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For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.


TUNE-"The moudiewort."


AND oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam,

And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam, I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.

They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
But three short years will soon wheel roun'-
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam.

A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam;
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.

Bess and her Spinning-wheel.

They'll ha'e me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' ha'e plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie-there's my
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam.


TUNE-"The sweet lass that lo'es me."

OH leeze me on my spinning-wheel,
Oh leeze me on my rock an' reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
An' haps me fiel an' warm at e'en!
I'll set me down an' sing an' spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, an' milk an' meal-
Oh leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
An' meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk an' hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest

An' little fishes' caller rest:

The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,

An' echo cons the dolefu' tale;


The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirring o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, an' less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,

Oh wha wad leave this humble state
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,

Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?


TUNE-"Dainty Davie," or "Oh gin ye were dead, gudeman."

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,

But whatna day o' whatna style,
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

John Anderson.

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win'
Blew hansel in on Robin.

The gossip keekit in his loof,

Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof;

I think we'll ca' him Robin.

He'll ha'e misfortunes great an' sma',
But aye a heart aboon them a';
He'll be a credit till us a'—

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

But sure as three times three mak' nine,
I see by ilka score and line,

This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin.

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But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,
An' mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
An' sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

TUNE-" Balinamona ora."

AWA' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:
Oh, gi'e me the lass that has acres o' charms,
Oh, gi'e me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.


Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for a lass wi a tocher,

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher-the nice yellow guineas for me.

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