But first on Sawnie gies a ca',
Syne bauldly in she enters;
A ratton rattled up the wa',

An' she cried, L-d, preserve her!
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a',
An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervor,
Fu' fast that night.

XXIII.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice:
Then hecht him some fine braw ane
It chanc'd the stack he faddom'd thrice *
Was timber-propt for thrawin:
He taks a swirlie, auld moss oak,

For some black, grousome carlin;
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin,
Aff's nieves that night.

XXIV.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As canty as a kittlen;

But och! that night, amang the shaws,

She got a fearfu' settlin!

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,

Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,f

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bear-stack, and fatk om it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.

† You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and, sometime near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.

To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
Was bent that night.

XXV.

Whyles o'er a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpl't;
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't;
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;
Whyles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel,

Unseen that night.

XXVI..

Amang the brackens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The Deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an' gae a croon!

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,

But mist a fit, an' in the pool,

Out owre the lugs she plumpit,

Wi' a plunge that night.

XXVII.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three* are ranged,

Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another; leave the third empty. Blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand : if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered

An' ev'ry time great care is taen,
To see them duly changed;

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys,
Sin' Mar's year did desire,

Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire,

In wrath that night.

XXVIII.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery.
Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a-steerin;
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,

They parted aff careerin,

Fu' blythe that night.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVO.

WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
Or wav'ring like the Bauckie-bird, †
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;

When hail-stanes drive wi' bitter skyte,

* Sowins, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Hallow

een supper.

↑ The old Scotch name for the Bat.

And infant frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e'en a merry core
O' randie, gangrel bodies,
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies:
Wi' quaffing and laughing,
They ranted and they sang,
Wi' jumping and thumping,
The vera girdle rang.

First niest the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sat weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
And knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm
She blinket on her sodger:
An' ay he gives the tousie drab
The tither skelpin kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab

Just like an a'mous dish.

Ilk smack still did crack still,
Just like a cadger's whip,
Then, stagg'ring and swagg'ring
He roar'd this ditty up:

I Am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars And show my cuts and scars wherever I come

This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,

When the bloody die was cast on the heights of

Abram;

I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was

play'd,

And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum, Lal de daudle, &c.

III.

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt❜ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.

IV.

And now, though I must beg, with a wooden arm

and leg,

And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my

callet,

As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.

Lal de daudle, &c

V.

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter

shocks,

Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,