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I hadna been a wife a week but only four,

When sitting sae mournfully at the door,

I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I coudna think it he, 'Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee."

O sair did we greet, and mickle did we say,
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves
away,

I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to die,
And why do I live to say, waes me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin,
I darna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gudewife to be,

For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.

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For he ca'd us a Highland mob,

And soon he'd slay us a' Willie,
But we chas'd him back to Stirling brig,
Dragoons and foot and a', Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a';

At length we rallied on a hill,
And briskly up did draw, Willie.

But when Argyle did view our line,

And them in order saw, Willie,
He streight gaed to Dumblane again,
And back his left did draw, Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a';

Then we to Auchteraider march'd,
To wait a better fa', Willie.

Now if ye spear wha wan the day,

I've tell'd you what I saw, Willie,

We baith did fight and baith did beat,

And baith did rin awa, Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,

Warn, warn a';

For second-sighted Sandie said,
We'd do nae gude at a', Willie.

THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL.

I FIND the Blythsome Bridal in James Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, printed at Edinburgh in 1706.

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And there will be Judan Maclawrie,
And blinkin daft Barbra Macleg,'
Wi' flae-lugged, sharny-fac'd Lawrie,
And shangy-mou'd halucket Meg.
And there will be happer-ars'd Nansy,
And fairy-fac'd Flowrie be name,
Muck Madie, and fat-hipped Lizie,
The lass with the gauden wame
Fy let us all, &c.

This song has humour and a felicity of expression worthy of Ramsay, with even more than his wonted broadness and sprightly language. The Witty Catalogue of Names, with their Historical Epithets, are done in the true Lowland Scottish taste of an age ago, when every householder was nicknamed either from some prominent part of his character, person, or lands and housen, which he rented. Thus-On "Skape-fitted Rob." "Thrawn-mou'd Rab o' the Dubs." "Roarin Jock i' the Swair."

"Slaverin' Simmie o' Todshaw.” "Souple Kate o' Irongray," &c. &c.-Burns.

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And there will be girn-again Gibbie,
With his glakit wife Jennie Bell,
And Misle-shinn'd Mungo Macapie,
The lad that was skipper himsel.
There lads and lasses in pearlings
Will feast in the heart of the ha',
sybows, and ryfarts, and carlings,
That are baith sodden and raw.
Fy let us all, &c.

And there will be fadges and brachen,
With fouth of good gappoks of skate,
Pow-sodie, and drammock, and crowdie,
And callour nout-feet in a plate;
And there will be partans and buckies,
Speldens and whytens enew,
And singed sheep-heads, and a haggize,
And scadlips to sup till ye spew.
Fy let us all, &c.

And there will be lapper'd-milk kebbucks,
And sowens, and farles, and baps,
With swats, and well-scraped paunches,
And brandy in stoups and in caps;
And there will be meal-kail and castocks,
With skink to sup till ye rive;
And rosts to rost on a brander,

Of flouks that were taken alive.
Fy let us all, &c.

Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dilse, and tangles,
And a mill of good snishing to prie;
When weary with eating and drinking,
We'll rise up and dance till we die.

Then fy let us all to the bridal,

For there will be lilting there;
For Jockie's to be marry'd to Maggy,
The lass with the gauden hair.

O CAN YE LABOUR LEA, YOUNG
MAN.

THIS song has long been known among the inhabitants of Nithsdale and Galloway, where it is a great favourite. The first verse should be restored to its original state.

I FEED a lad at Roodsmass,
Wi' siller pennies three;
When he came home at Martinmass,
He could nae labour lea.

O canna ye labour lea, young lad,
O canna ye labour lea?
Indeed, quo' he, my hand's out-

An' up his graith packed he.

This old way is the truest, for the terms, Roodmass is the hiring fair, and Hallowmass the first of the half year.-BURNS.

I FEED a man at Martinmass,
Wi' arle-pennies three;
But a' the faute I had to him,

He could nae labour lea.

O can ye labour lea, young man,
O can ye labour lea?

Gae back the gate ye came again,
Ye'se never scorn me.

O clappin's gude in Febarwar,
An' kissins sweet in May;
But what signifies a young man's ove
An't dinna last for ay.

O can ye, &c.

O kissin is the key of luve,
An clappin is the lock,
An' makin-of's the best thing
That e'er a young thing got.
O can ye, &c.

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale, As swift as the roe which the hound doth assail, As the full-moon in autumn our shields do appear,

Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. Such our love, &c.

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows,
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes;
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks,
Dash the force of our foes with our thundering
strokes.
Such our love, &c.

Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old
France,

In their troops fondly boasted till we did ad

vance;

But when our claymores they saw us produce, Their courage did fail, and they sued for a truce. Such our love, &c.

In our realm may the fury of faction long cease, May our councils be wise, and our commerce increase;

And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find, That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove kind.

Then we'll defend our liberty, our country,

and our laws,

And teach our late posterity to fight in Freedom's cause,

That they like our ancestors bold, &c.

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I FEED a lad at Roodsmass,

Wi' siller pennies three;
When he came home at Martinmass,
He could nae labour lea.

O canna ye labour lea, young lad,
O canna ye labour lea?
Indeed, quo' he, my hand's out-

An' up his graith packed he.

This old way is the truest, for the terms, Roodmass is the hiring fair, and Hallowmass the first of the half year.-BURNS.

I FEED a man at Martinmass,
Wi' arle-pennies three;
But a' the faute I had to him,

He could nae labour lea.
O can ye labour lea, young man,
O can ye labour lea?

Gae back the gate ye came again,
Ye'se never scorn me.

O clappin's gude in Febarwar,
An' kissins sweet in May;
But what signifies a young man's ove
An't dinna last for ay.

O can ye, &c.

O kissin is the key of luve,
An clappin is the lock,
An' makin-of's the best thing
That e'er a young thing got.
O can ye, &c.

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale, As swift as the roe which the hound doth assail, As the full-moon in autumn our shields do appear,

Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. Such our love, &c.

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows,
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes;
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks,
Dash the force of our foes with our thundering
strokes.
Such our love, &c.

Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old
France,

In their troops fondly boasted till we did ad

vance;

But when our claymores they saw us produce, Their courage did fail, and they sued for a truce. Such our love, &c.

In our realm may the fury of faction long cease, May our councils be wise, and our commerce increase;

And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find, That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove kind.

Then we'll defend our liberty, our country,

and our laws,

And teach our late posterity to fight in Freedom's cause,

That they like our ancestors bold, &c.

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