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HE.

The bee that through the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower,
Compared wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.

SHE.

The woodbine in the dewy weet,
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet

As is a kiss o' Willy.

HE.

Let fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win;
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.

SHE.

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
I care nae wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,

And that's my ain dear Willy.

Nov. 19, 1794.

lose

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.

TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding.

CONTENTED Wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, merry
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, meet
I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld

Scottish sang.

slap

pail- ale

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought, But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: fight My mirth and good-humour are coin in my pouch,

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

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When at the blithe end of our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

Blind Chance, let her snapper and

stoyte on her way;

stumble

totter

Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:

Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,

My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!"

Nov. 19, 1794.

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY?

TUNE-Roy's Wife.

CHORUS.

CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward
An aching, broken heart, my Katy?

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy.

1

Nov. 19, 1794.

1 This song is a poetical expression of the more gentle feeling Burns was now beginning to entertain towards Mrs. Rid

It

del. Burns could not write verses on any woman without imagining her as a mistress, past, present, or potential. He accordingly treats the breach of friendship which had occurred between him and the fair hostess of Woodley Park, as a falling away on her part from constancy in the tender passion. appears, moreover, that he sent the song to Mrs. Riddel, as a sort of olive-branch, and that she did not receive it in an unkindly spirit, though probably without forgetting that the bard had wounded her delicacy. She answered the song in the same strain, and sent her own piece to Burns, for it was found by Currie amongst his papers after his death.

STAY, MY WILLIE, YET BELIEVE ME.

Stay, my Willie - yet believe me;
Stay, my Willie yet believe me;

For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang

Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me.

Tell me that thou yet art true,

And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven;

And when this heart proves fause to thee,

Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven.

But to think I was betrayed,

That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder!

To take the flow'ret to my breast,

And find the guilefu' serpent under!

Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive,
Celestial pleasures, might I choose 'em,

I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres
That heaven I'd find within thy bosom.

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Stay, my Willie- yet believe me;

For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang

Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

"A great critic (Aikin) on songs says, that love and wine are the exclusive themes for song-writing. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is no song, but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme.” — Burns to Mr. Thomson, January, 1795.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that!
The coward slave we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,1
The man's the gowd for a' that!

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that!

1 A similar thought occurs in Wycherley's Plain-Dealer, which Burns probably never saw: "I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you hend every way, and debases the stamp he bears."

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