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John Barleycorn was a hero bold,

Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood, ,

'Twill make your courage rise.
"Twill make a man forget his woe;

'Twill heighten all his joy : 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,

Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn.

Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

Then up

The Rigs r* Barlry. (309)

TUNE-Corn Rigs are bonnie. It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bomie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light,

I heft awa to Annie : The time flew by wi' tentless heed,

Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed

To see me thro' the barley.

Thje Ploughman. TUNE— Up wi' the Ploughman. THE ploughman he's a bonnie lad,

His mind is ever true, jo;
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.


my ploughman lad, And hey my merry plouglıman! Of a' the trades that I do ken,

Commend me to the ploughman. My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,

He's aften wat and weary ; Cast off the wat, put on the dry, And gae to bed, my

I will wash my ploughman's hose,

And I will dress his o'erlay;
I will mak my ploughman's bed,

And cheer him late and early.
I hae been east, I hae been west,

I hae been at Saint Johnston; The bonniest sight that e'er I saw

Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.
Snaw-white stockins on his legs,

And siller buckles glancin';
A guid blue bonnet on his head-

And ol, but he was handsome!
Commend me to the barn-yard,

And at the corul-mou, man; I never gat my coggie fou,

Till I meet wi' the plougliman.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,

The moon was shining clearly ;
I set her down wi' right good will

Amang the rigs o' barley;
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;

I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

Amang the rigs o' barley.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;

Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley! But by the moon and stars so bright,

That shone that hour so clearly ! She aye

shall bless that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley.

Song routpused in August (310) TUNE- I had a horse, 1 had nae mair. Now westling winds and slaught'ring guns

Bring autumn's pleasant weather; The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,

Amang the blooming heather :

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my dream.



Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,

Delights the weary farmer; [night Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my And the moon shines bright, when I rove at

(stream, To muse upon my charmer.

For there, by a lanely and sequester'd

Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and The partridge loves the fruitful fells

j The plover loves the mountains ; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ;

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my The soaring hern the fountains


(strath : Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves,

'Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow The path of man to shun it;

For there wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,

While o'er us unlieeded flee the swift hours o' The spreading thorn the linnet.

[rove, Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang i The savage and the tender;

While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours Some social join, and leagues combine:

o' love. Some solitary wander : Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair; Tyrannic man's dominion ;

O'nice education but sma, is her share; The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,

Her parentage humble as humble can be; The fluttring gory pinion.

But I loe the dear lassie because she loes me.

Her parentage humble as humble can be: But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear,

But I loe the dear lassie because she loes Thick flies the skimming swallow; The sky is blue, the fields in view, All fading-green and yellow;

To beauty what man but maun yield him x Come, let us stray our gladsome way,


(sighs ! And view the charms of nature;

In her armour of glances, and blushes, and The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,

And when wit and refinement hae polish'd And every happy creature.

her darts,

They dazzle our een, as they flee to our hearts. We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

And when wit and refinement hae polish'd Till the silent moon shine clearly;

her darts,

[hearts. I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,

They dazzle our een, as they flee to our Swear how I love thee dearly : Not verval show'rs to budding flow'rs,

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond Not autumn to the farmer.

sparkling e'e, So dear can be as thou to me,

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; My fair, my lovely charmer!

And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd in

[charms! Oh, these, are my lassie's all-conquering

And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd Van Wild Flossn Manntains. (311) TUNE-Yon wild mossy Mountains.

Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering

charms! ON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,

(Clyde, That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,

zin plannir, O. (312) And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes

TUNE-My Nannie, O. on his reed. Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows, the heather to feed,

'Mang moors and mosses many, 0, And the shepherd tents his flock as he | The wintry sun the day has clos'd, pipes on his reed.

And I'll awa to Nannie, O. Not Gowrie's rich vallies, nor Forth's sunny The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill; shores,

The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0; To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal, moors ;

And owre the hills to Nannie, O.

her arms,

in her arms,

The Cure for all Care. TUNE-Prepare, my dear Brethren, to the

Tavern let's fly. No churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No sly man of business contriving a shareFor a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my


My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young;

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O: May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie, 0. Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonnie, 0 : The op’ning gowan, wet wi dew,

Nae purer is than Nannie, 0. A country lad is my degree,

And few there be that ken me, 0; But what care I how few they be?

I'm welcome aye to Nannie, 0. My riches a's my penny-fee,

And I maun guide it cannie, 0; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0. Our auld guidman delights to view

His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, 0; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

And has nae care but Naunie, 0. Come weel, come woe, I care nae by,

I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, 0; Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, and love my Nannie, O.

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that

are here, And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. Here passes the squire on his brother--his

horse; There centum per centum, the cit with his

purse; But see you The Crown, how it waves in the

air ! There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; For sweet consolation to church I did fly; I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. I once was persuaded a venture to make; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; But the pursy old landlord just waddled up

stairs, With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. Life's cares they are comforts" (314)-2

maxim laid down By the hard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;

[hair; And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to a For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care.

Grrri Crom the Rasles, (313)



the Rashes.



Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May every true brother of the compass and square

(care! Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with

Green grow the rashes, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend

Are spent amang the lasses, O. There's nought but care on ev'ry han',

In every hour that passes, O: What signities the life o' man,

An 'twere na for the lasses, O. The warlly race may riches chase,

And riches still may fy them, O; And tho' at last they catch them fast,

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O, But gie me a canny hour at e'en,

My arms about my dearie, 0;
And warl’ly cares, and warl’ly men,

May a' yae tapsalteerie, 0.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,

Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0 : The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,

And then she made the lasses, O.

On Cessnork Banks. TUNE-If he be a Butcher neat and trim. ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass,

Could I describe her shape and mien; The graces of her weel-faur'd face,

And the glancin' of her sparklin' een! She's fresher than the morning dawn

When rising Phæbus first is seen, When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;

And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

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