Wha still hae been a feckless brood Wi' drinking wine.

18

The fuddlin' Bardies now-a-days
Rin maukin-mad 12 in Bacchus' praise,
And limp and stoiter thro' their lays
Anacreontic,

While each his sea of wine displays
As big's the Pontic.

My muse will no gang far frae hame,
Or scour a' airths 13 to hound for fame;
In troth, the jillet 14 ye might blame
For thinking on't,

Whan eithly 15 she can find the theme
Of aqua font.

This is the name that doctors use
Their patients' noddles to confuse;
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still,

In kittle 16 words to gar 17

you roose Their want o' skill.

24

330

18

36

11 lease 12 mad as a hare 13 regions 14 huzzy 15 easily 16 ticklish 17 make 18 praise 19 such 20 which

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;

I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win;

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e

Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!"

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;

His ship it was a wrack - Why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me!

20

My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break:

They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the

sea;

Sae auld Robin' Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think
it he,

Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee."

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away: I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

1 husband

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE,

32

He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it.
He gaped wide but naething spak-
At length poor Mailie silence brak.

"O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An' bear them to my Master dear.

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a sheep
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 2
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!

"But ca' them out to park or hill,
An' let them wander at their will:
So may his flock increase and grow
To scores o' lambs and packs o' woo'!

"Tell him, he was a Master kin',^

An' aye was guid to me an' mine;
An' now my dying charge I gie him
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him.

SONG, - MY NANIE, O Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, An' I'll awa to Nanie, O.

ΙΟ

The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O

But gie me a cannie3 hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0:
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 try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL

15

20

5

ΙΟ

1 known shy

1 not for that solemn

2 worldly 3 quiet splashes 7 brimstone tub

10 lonely

15 one 20 fist up

unearthly grave 13 often beyond 14 elders 16 slanting

21 harsh

25 churn

17 beyond 18 lake

22 wizards

19 rush-bush

23 church-yards 24 dug