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Was na Robin bauld,

Tho' I was a cotter,
Play'd me sic a trick,
And me the elder's dochter ?

Robin shure, &c.

Robin promis’d me

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

Robin shure, &c.

MEG O' THE MILL.*

Tune—“O bonny Lass, will you lie in a barracks.”

O KEN ye what Meg o’the mill has gotten,
And ken ye what Meg o’the mill has gotten ?
A braw new naig wi' the tail o' a rottan,
And that's what Meg o' the mill has gotten.
O ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo’es dearly,
And ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo’es dearly ?
A dram o'gude strunt in a morning early,
And that's what Meg o' the mill lo’es dearly.

O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was married,
And ken ye how Meg o’the mill was married ?
The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he was carried,
And that's how Meg o’the mill was married.
O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded,
And ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded ?

* This is founded on an old ditty which the poet altered and trimmed up for Johnson's Musical Museum.' Another version of it he subsequently furnished to Mr Thomson, which will be given in his correspondence with that gentleman.-M.

The groom gat sae fou, he fell twafauld beside it, And that's how Meg o' the mill was bedded.

THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS.

THERE's news, lasses, news,

Guid news I've to tell,
There's a boatfu' o'lads
Come to our town to sell.
The wean wants a cradle,

And the cradle wants a cod;
And I'll no gang

to
my

bed
Until I get a nod.

Father, quo' she, mither, quo' she,

Do what ye can,
I'll no gang to my bed,
Till I get a man.
The wean wants a cradle,

And the cradle wants a cod;
And I'll no gang to my bed,

Until I get a nod.

I hae as guid a craft rig

As made o' yird and stane ;
And waly fa' the ley-crap,
For I maun till'd again.
The wean wants a cradle,

And the cradle wants a cod;
And I'll no gang to my bed

Until I get a nod.

O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED.

O THAT I had ne'er been married,

I wad never had nae care ;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
And they cry crowdie evermair.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,

Three times crowdie in a day,
Gin
ye

crowdie
Ye'll crowdie a'

my
meal

away.

ony mair,

Waefu' want and hunger fley me,

Glowrin' by the hallan en’;
Sair I fecht them at the door,
But aye I'm eerie they come ben.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,

Three times crowdie in a day;
Gin

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.

ye crowdie

ony mair,

BUT LATELY SEEN.

Tune The winter of life.”

But lately seen in gladsome green,

The woods rejoiced the day ;
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers,

In double pride were gay :
But now our joys are fled

On winter blasts awa! Yet maiden May, in rich

array, Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe,

Shall melt the snaws of age ;

My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. Oh! age has

weary days, And nights o' sleepless pain! Thou golden time o'youthfu' prime,

Why comes thou not again ?

COULD AUGHT OF SONG.

Tune Could aught of song."

Could aught of song declare my pains,

Could artful numbers move thee,
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains,

O Mary, how I love thee !
They who but feign a wounded heart,

May teach the lyre to languish ;
But what avails the pride of art,

When wastes the soul with anguish ?

Then let the sudden bursting sigh,
The heart-felt pang

discover ; And in the keen, yet tender eye,

O read th' imploring lover.
For well I know thy gentle mind

Disdains art's gay disguising ;
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd,

The voice of nature prizing.

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH.

Tune Laggan Burn.”

HERE's to thy health, my bonnie lass,

Gude night and joy be wi' thee; I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,

To tell thee that I lo'e thee. O dinna think, my pretty pink,

But I can live without thee : I vow and swear I dinna care

How lang ye look about ye.

Thou’rt aye sae free informing me

Thou hast nae mind to marry ;
I'll be as free informing thee

Nae time hae I to tarry.
I ken thy friends try ilka means,

Frae wedlock to delay thee,
Depending on some higher chance-

But fortune may betray thee.

I ken they scorn my low estate,

But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,

Sma' siller will relieve me.
I count my health my greatest wealth,

Sae long as I'll enjoy it :
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode na want,

As lang's I get employment.

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But far off fowls hae feathers fair,

until Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, They may prove

than I am.

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