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* “ I enclose you," says Burns to Mr Thomson, (Correspondence, No. XLII.]“ Frazer's set of 'Fee him, father. When he plays it slow, he makes it, in fact, the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement.' Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirable pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time Patie Allan's mother died; that was about the back of midnight ; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which

had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse."

The editor of this work had the pleasure of hearing Mr Frazer play. Fee him, father,” in the exquisite style above described, at his benefit in the Theatre-Royal, Edinburgh, 1822. After having for many years occupied the station of hautbois-player, in the orchestra of that place of amusement, he died in 1825, with the character of having been the very best performer on this difficult, but beautiful instrument, of his time, in Scotland.


TUNE-Auld Stuarts back again.
The auld Stuarts back again !
The auld Stuarts back again !
Let howlet Whigs do what they can,

The Stuarts will be back again.
Wha cares for a' their creeshie duds,
And a' Kilmarnock's sowen suds ?
We'll wauk their hides, and fyle their fuds,

And bring the Stuarts back again.

There's Ayr, and Irvine, wi' the rest,
And a' the cronies o' the west ;
Lord ! sic a scaw'd and scabbit nest,

And they'll set up their crack again !
But wad they come, or daur they come,
Afore the bagpipe and the drum,
We'll either gar them a' sing dumb,

Or « Auld Stuarts back again."

Give ear unto this loyal sang,
A’ye that ken the richt frae wrang,
And a' that look, and think it lang,

For auld Stuarts back again :


wi' me to chase the rae,
Out ower the hills and far away,
And saw the Lords come there that day,

To bring the Stuarts back again :

There ye might see the noble Mar,
Wi' Athole, Huntly, and Traquair,
Seaforth, Kilsyth, and Auldublair,

And mony mae, what reck, again.
Then what are a' their westlin' crews ?

We'll gar the tailors tack again :

Can they forstand the tartan trews,

And • Auld Stuarts back again !"



TUNE-She rose and let me in.

The night her silent sable wore,

And gloomy were the skies ;
Of glitt'ring stars appear’d no more

Than those in Nelly's eyes.
When to her father's door I came,

Where I had often been,
I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame,

To rise and let me in.

But she, with accents all divine,
fond suit

reprove ;
And while she chid my rash design,
She but inflamed my.

love. Her beauty oft had pleased before,

While ber bright eyes did roll ; But virtue had the very power

To charm my very soul.

Then who would cruelly deceive,

Or from such beauty part ?
I loved her so, I could not leave

The charmer of my heart.
My eager fondness I obey'd,

Resolved she should be mine, Till Hymen to my arms convey'd

My treasure so divine.

Now, happy in my Nelly's love,

Transporting is my joy ;

No greater blessing can I prove,

So blest a man am I:
For beauty may a while retain

The conquer'd flutt'ring heart;
But virtue only is the chain,

Holds, never to depart.*



TUNE-The wee bit Wifikie.

THERE was a wee bit wifikie was comin' frae the fair, Had got a wee bit drappikie, that bred her muckle care ; It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew: O i quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou.

I wish I binna fou, I wish I binna fou, 0 1 quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou.

If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my


gae in.

But I'll lie doun and tak a nap before that I
Sittin' at the dyke-side, and takin' o' ber nap,
By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack.
Wi’ a little pack, quo' she, wi' a little pack,
By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack.

He's clippit a' her gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae

lang ;t He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa he And when the wifie wakened, her head was like a bee, Oh! quo' the wifikie, this is nae me.


* Altered from the original, which appeared in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.

During the last century, when borrowed locks were fashionable, pedlars used to buy hair from persons in humble life throughout the country, to be disposed of again to peruke-makers in large towns, for the purpose of being converted into wigs for fine ladies and gentlemen. I have been informed by an aged relative, that a particular individual, who lived about he ran : Is that you, Bessikie ? - Wow, na, man ! a hundred years ago at Peebles, used to get a guinea every year from a travelling merchant, or pedlar, for her hair, which was of a particularly fine golden colour. Thus, the pedlar in the song was only prosecuting part of his calling, when he clipped all Bessikie's “gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae lang.”

This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me; Somebody has been fellin' me, and this is nae me.

I met wi' kindly company, and birl'd my bawbee ! And still, if this be Bessikie, three placks remain wi'


And I will look the pursie neuks, see gin the cunyie


There's neither purse nor plack about me! This is nae


This is nae me, &c.

I have a little housikie, but and a kindly man;
A dog, they ca' bim Doussikie ; if this be me, he'll

fawn ; And Johnnie he'll come to the door, and kindly wel

come gie, And a' the bairns on the floor-head will dance, if this

be me.

Will dance, if this be me, &c.

The nicht was late, and dang out weet, and, oh, but it

was dark; The doggie heard a body’s fit, and he began to bark: O, when she heard the doggie bark, and kennin' it was

he, O, weel ken ye, Doussikie, quo' she, this is nae me.

This is nae me, &c.

When Johnnie heard his Bessie's word, fast to the door

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