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TUNE-" An gille dubh ciar-dhubh."

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me?

Cruel, cruel to deceive me!

Well you know how much you grieve me ;

Cruel charmer, can you go'


Cruel charmer, can you go ?

By my love, so ill requited,
By the faith you fondly plighted,
By the pangs of lovers slighted,
Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!

TUNE-" Bonnie lassie, tak' a man.'

JOCKEY's ta'en the parting kiss,
O'er the mountains he is gane;
An' wi' him is a' my bliss,

Nought but griefs with me remain.
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw,
Plashy sleets and beating rain!
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw,
Drifting o'er the frozen plain!

Gane is the Day.

When the shades of evening creep
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,
Sound and safely may he sleep,

Sweetly blithe his waukening be!
He will think on her he loves,
Fondly he'll repeat her name;
For where'er he distant roves,
Jockey's heart is still at hame.



TUNE-"Gudewife, count the lawin."

["The chorus of this song is old."-Burns.]

GANE is the day, an' mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light,
For ale an' brandy's stars an' moon,
An' bluid-red wine's the rising sun.

Then, gudewife, count the lawin,
The lawin, the lawin;
Then, gudewife, count the lawin,
An' bring a coggie mair.

There's wealth an' ease for gentlemen,
An' simple folk maun fight an' fen;
But here we 're a' in ae accord,

For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.

My coggie is a haly pool,

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool;

An' pleasure is a wanton trout,


ye drink but deep ye 'll find him out.


TUNE-"Rinn meudial mo mhealladh."

[This is an old Highland air, and the title means "My love did deceive me." There is much feeling expressed in this song.]

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsimmer e'enin',
The pipers an' youngsters were making their


Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again.

Weel, since he has left me, my pleasure gae wi' him;

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;

I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

I couldna get sleeping till dawin' for greetin',
The tears trickled down like the hail an' the rain:
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,
For, oh! love forsaken's a tormenting pain.

The Cure for all Care.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,

I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever ha'e acted sae faithless to him.



TUNE-"Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly."
No churchman am I, for to rail and to write,
No statesman or soldier, to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare-
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care.

The peer I don't envy,-I give him his bow:
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low:
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse: There centum per centum, the cit with his purse; But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air! There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.

The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.

I once was persuaded a venture to make,—
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

"Life's cares they are comforts"*- -a maxim laid down

By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black


An', faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
For a big-bellied bottle 's a heav'n of care.


Then fill up a bumper, an' make it o'erflow,
An' honours masonic prepare for to throw;
May every true brother of the compass an' square
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care!


TUNE-"The King of France, he rade a race."

AMANG the trees where humming bees
At buds an' flowers were hinging, O,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
An' to her pipe was singing, O;

Yo ungs Night Thoughts.

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