And he wad do their errands weel,

And meikle he wad say,

And ilka ane at Lon'on court
Wad bid to him guid day.

Then neist came in a sodger youth,
And spak wi' modest grace,
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town,
If sae their pleasure was.

He wad na hecht them courtly gift,
Nor meikle speech pretend;
But he wad hecht an honest heart
Wad ne'er desert his friend.

Now whom to choose and whom refuse;
To strife thae Carlins fell;

For some had gentle folk to please,
And some wad please themsel.

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith,

An' she spak out wi' pride,
An' she wad send the sodger youth
Whatever might betide.

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court
She did not care a pin,

But she wad send the sodger youth

To greet his eldest son.

Then up sprang

Bess o' Annandale :

A deadly aith she's ta'en,

That she wad vote the border Knight,

Tho' she should vote her lane.

For far off fowls hae feathers fair,

An' fools o' change are fain: But I hae tried the border Knight, I'll try him yet again.

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton peel,

A Carlin stout and grim,

The auld guidman or young guidman,
For me may sink or swim!

For fools may prate o' right and wrang,
While knaves laugh them to scorn:
But the sodger's friends hae blawn the best
Sae he shall bear the horn.

Then whisky Jean spak o'er her drink,
Ye weel ken kimmers a'

The auld guidman o' Lon'on court,
His back's been at the wa'.

And monie a friend that kiss'd his caup,
Is now a frammit wight;

But it's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean,
We'll send the border Knight.

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs,
And wrinkled was her brow;

Her ancient weed was russet gray,
Her auld Scots heart was true.

There's some great folks set light by me,

I set as light by them;

But I will send to Lon'on town,

Wha I lo'e best at hame.

So how this weighty plea will end,
Nae mortal wight can tell;

God grant the King and ilka man
May look weel to himsel'!

THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE.

THE bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
The deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O!
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin body, O!
He paidles out, and he paidles in,
An' he paidles late and early, O;

This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O.

O haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife,
O haud your tongue now, Nansie, O :
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wadna been sae donsie, 0:

I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O;
But downa do's come o'er me now,
And, oh, I find it sairly, O!

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME.

WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na where to lodge till day.

By my good luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care ;
And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;
She put

the cup to her

rosy lips,

And drank, Young man, now sleep ye soun.'

This ballad, which occurs in Johnson's Museum with Burns' name, was, he says, "composed on an amour of Charles II. when skulking in the north, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. He formed some petite affaire with a daughter of the house of Port Letham, who was the lass that made the bed to him.' The Poet then gives two of the old verses, which are greatly inferior to this improved version of the story."

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,

And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again
To lay some mair below my head.

A cod she laid below my head,
And served me wi' due respect;
And to salute her wi' a kiss,

If

I put my arms about her neck.

Haud aff your hands, young man,' she says, 'And dinna sae uncivil be:

ye hae onie love for me,

O wrang na my virginitie !'

Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie;

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.

Her bosom was the driven snaw,

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, The lass that made the bed to me.

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
And she wist na what to say ;
aye
I laid her between me and the wa',
The lassie thought na lang till day.

Upon the morrow when we rose,

I thank'd her for her courtesie;

But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd,
And said, Alas! ye've ruin'd me.'