I gaed up to Dunse,

To warp a wab o' plaiden; At his daddie's yett,

Wha met me but Robin? Was na Robin bauld,

Though I was a cotter, Play'd me sic a trick,

And me the eller's dochter?

Robin promised me

A' my winter vittle; Fient haet he had but three Goose feathers and a whittle.

Sweetest May.

SWEETEST May, let love inspire thee;
Take a heart which he desires thee;
As thy constant slave regard it;
For its faith and truth reward it.
Proof o' shot to birth or money,
Not the wealthy but the bonnie;
Not high-born, but noble-minded,
In love's silken band can bind it.

The Lass of Eccleferhan.
TUNE-Jacky Latin.

GAT ye me, oh gat ye me,

Oh gat ye me wi' naething

Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,

A mickle quarter basin.

Bye attour, my gutcher has

A hich house and a laigh ane,

A' forbye my bonnie sel',

The lass of Ecclefcchan.

Oh haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, Oh haud your tongue and jannier;

I held the gate till you I met,

Syne I began to wander :

I tint my whistle and my sang,

I tint my peace and pleasure:

But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, Wad airt me to my treasure.

On a Ploughman.

255

As I was a-wand'ring ane morning in spring, I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;

And as he was singing these words, he did say, There's nae life like the ploughman's in the mouth o' sweet May.

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest, [breast, And mount to the air wi' the dew on her And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing, [again. And at night she'll return to her nest back

The Wrary and o' Tow.
Hund
TUNE-The Weary Pundo' Tow.
THE weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow;

I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.

I bought my wife a stane o' lint
As guid as e'er did grow;
And a' that she has made o' that,
Is ane poor pund o' tow.

There sat a bottle in a bole,
Beyont the ingle lowe,

And
aye she took the tither souk,
To drouk the stowrie tow.

Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!
She took the rock, and wi' a knock
She brak it o'er my pow.

At last her feet-I sang to see't-
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;
And ere I wad anither jad,
I'll wallop in a tow.

The Laddies by the Banks n' With, (390)

TUNE-Up and waur them a'.

HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend!

Wha wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life u ay end,

What his share may be o' care, man? Then catch the moments as they fly,

And use them as ye ought, man :Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes na aye when sought, man.

Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie, But he'll sair them as he sair'd the king, Turn tail and rin awa, Jamie.

Up and waur them a', Jamie,

Up and waur them a';

The Johnstones hae the guidin' o't, Ye turncoat whigs, awa.

The day he stude his country's friend,
Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie,
Or frae puir man a blessin' wan,

That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie.
But wha is he, his country's boast?
Like him there is na twa, Jamie;
There's no a callant tents the kye,
But kens o' Westerha', Jamie.
To end the wark, here's Whistlebirck,
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie;
And Maxwell true o' sterling blue,

And we'll be Johnstones a', Jamie.

Another on his Widow.

ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, When deprived of her husband she loved so well, [show'd her,

In respect for the love and affection he She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank off the powder.

Written on a Window of the Jan

AT CARRON.

WE cam na here to view your warks
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:

But whan we tirled at your door,

Your porter dought na hear us; Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come, Your billy Satan sair us!

On an Empty Fellow,

WHO IN COMPANY ENGROSSED THE CONVERSATION
WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS GREAT CONNEXIONS.

No more of your titled acquaintances boast,
And what nobles and gentles you've seen ;
An insect is still but an insect at most,
Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen!

The Creed of Poverty. (401)

IN politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be,
Bear this in mind:-be deaf and blind,
Let great folks hear and see.

Written on a Pane of Glass,

ON THE OCCASION OF A NATIONAL
THANKSGIVING FOR A NAVAL VICTORY.
YE hypocrites! are these your pranks ?-
To murder men, and gie God thanks!
For shame! gie o'er, proceed no further-
God won't accept your thanks for murther!

The True Loyal Latives. (400)

YE true "Loyal Natives," attend to my song In uproar and riot rejoice the night long: From envy and hatred your corps is exempt; But where is your shield from the darts o' contempt ?

Inscription on a Goblet.

THERE'S death in the cup-sae beware! Nay, more-there is danger in touching; But wha can avoid the fell snare?

The man and his wine's sae bewitching!

Extempore on Mr. Syme.

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,

And cookery the first in the nation ; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,

Is proof to all other temptation.

To Mr. Sqme,

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.

OH, had the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit,
"Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit.

Written in a Lady's Pocket-Book. GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live, [give, To see the miscreants feel the pains they Deal freedom's sacred treasures free as air, Till slave and despot be but things which

were.

Ta Suhn Taylor. (402)
WITH Pegasus upon a day,
Apollo weary flying,
Through frosty hills the journey lay,
On foot the way was plying.

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus
Was but a sorry walker;
To Vulcan then Apollo goes,
To get a frosty calker.

Obliging Vulcan fell to work,

Threw by his coat and bonnet,
And did Sol's business in a crack;
Sol paid him with a sonnet.

YE Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead,
Pity my sad disaster;
My Pegasus is poorly shod-
I'll pay you like my master.

To Miss Fontenelle,

ON SEEING HER IN A FAVOURITE

CHARACTER.

SWEET naïveté of feature,

Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, Thou art acting but thyself.

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, Spurning nature, torturing art; Loves and graces all rejected,

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part.

The Toast. (403)

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a

toast

Here's the memory of those on the twelth that we lost!

That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;

For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. [King! The next in succession, I'll give you—the Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing; [tution,

And here's the grand fabric, our free ConstiAs built on the base of the great Revolution; And longer with politics not to be cramm'd, Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd: And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.

Toast to the Same. (406) FILL me with the rosy wine, Call a toast-a toast divine; Give the poet's darling flame, Lovely Jessy be the name; Then thou mayest freely boast Thou hast given a peerless toast.

Epitaph on the Same. (407)

SAY, sages, what's the charm on earth
Can turn death's dart aside?
It is not purity and worth,
Else Jessy had not died.

To the Same.

BUT rarely seen since Nature's birth.
The natives of the sky;

Yet still one seraph's left on earth,
For Jessy did not die.