Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
An' wha wad dare to spoil it?
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.
Fall de rall, &c.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,
An' the wretch, his true-born brother,
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be damn'd together.

Who will not sing, "God save the King,"
Will hang as high 's the steeple;

But while we sing, "God save the King,"
We'll ne'er forget the People.
Fall de rall, &c.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?

TUNE-"The sutor's dochter."

WILT thou be my dearie?

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee?

By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee!

I swear an' vow that only thou

The Winter of Life.

Lassie, say thou lo’es me;

Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
Say na thou 'lt refuse me:
If it winna, canna be,

Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.

THE WINTER OF LIFE.

TUNE-"Gil Morice."

BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoic'd 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 beild,
Sinks in Time's wintry rage.

159

Oh, age has weary days,

An' nights o' sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,
Why comes thou not again?

YESTREEN I HAD A PINT O' WINE.

TUNE-"Banks of Banna."

["I think this is the best love song I ever composed.”—Burns.]

YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,

A place where body saw na;
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.

Ye monarchs, tak' the east an' west,
Frae Indus to Savannah !

Gi'e me within my straining grasp

The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,

An empress or sultana,

While dying raptures in her arms
I give an' take with Anna!

My Lady's gown, there's gairs upon't.

Awa', thou flaunting god o' day!

Awa', thou pale Diana!

Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray,
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night!
Sun, moon, an' stars withdrawn a';
An' bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna!

MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS
UPON 'T.

TUNE-"Gregg's pipes."

My lady's gown, there's gairs upon 't,
An' gowden flowers sae rare upon 't;
But Jenny's jimps an' jirkinet,
My lord thinks meikle mair upon 't.

My lord a-hunting he is gane,

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane,
By Colin's cottage lies his game,
If Colin's Jenny be at hame.

My lady's white, my lady's red,
An' kith an' kin o' Cassillis' bluid;
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.

161

Out owre yon muir, out owre yon moss,
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass,
A lily in a wilderness.

Sae sweetly move her gentle limbs,
Like music notes o' lovers' hymns:
The diamond dew is her een sae blue,
Whare laughing love sae wanton swims.

My lady's dink, my lady's drest,
The flower an' fancy o' the west;
But the lassie that a man lo'es best,
Oh, that's the lass to mak' him blest.

TO MARY.

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?