My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees rejoice in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

SONG.t

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But, ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
To hope may be forgiven;
For sure, 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.

+ Burns inserted this song in the edition of his Poems printed in 1793. It has been collated with a copy in his own manuscript.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.*

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 stamp ;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is King o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;

* In January, 1795, Burns said in a letter to Thomson, "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. I do not give you this song for your book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle; for the piece is not really poetry."

Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray

that come it

may,

As come it will for a' that;

That sense and worth o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

DAINTIE DAVIE.+

Now rosy May' comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours,2
To wander wi' my Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us3 fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',

The scented breezes round us blaw,'

A wandering wi' my Davie.

VAR. Morn.

Meet me, &c.

2 Then busy, busy are his hours,
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

3 gently.

4

round him blaw,

The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

This song occurs in Johnson's Museum, p. 229, with the title, "The gardener wi' his paidle;" but without a chorus, and with the variations here given. Burns says,

The title of the song only is old; the rest is mine." He sent it to Mr. Thomson in August, 1793, and afterwards remarked to him: "" Dainty Davie' I have heard sung nineteen thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine times, and always with the chorus to the low part of the tune."

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,

Then through the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.

Meet me,

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

6

&c.

And that's my ain dear Davie.
Meet me, &c.

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.||

TUNE THE HOPELESS LOVER.'

Now spring has clad the groves in
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!

green,

6 He flies to her arms he lo'es the best,

The gard❜ner, &c.

Apparently written about May, 1795. See the note to O bonnie was yon rosy brier.'