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Full text of "The songs of Scotland prior to Burns. With the tunes"

THE GLEN COLLECTION 
OF SCOTTISH MUSIC 

Presented by Lady Dorothea Ruggles- 
Brise to the National Library of Scotland, 
in memory of her brother, Major Lord 
George Stewart Murray, Black Watch, 
killed in action in France in 1914. 
28 Wt January 1927. 



THE 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND 

PRIOR TO BURNS. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2011 with funding from 

National Library of Scotland 



http://www.archive.org/details/songsofscotlandpOOcham 



/ 



4<^H 



THE 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND 

PRIOR TO BURNS. 

With the Times. 

EDITED BY 

ROBERT CHAMBERS, LL.D. 




Krl 



'zB0l?fSsi&3 



'**m^ 






W. & R. CHAMBERS, 
EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 



jjvom 



LIBR 



■4/r 



OF SCOTLAND 



CONTENTS. 




INTRODUCTORY HISTORICAL SKETCH, . 


I'A'iE 

xi 


f tonal 


Sff-itjs. 




THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST, 




. 21 


LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW, 




26 


GILDEROY, .... 




. 27 


GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO LONGMARSTON MOOR, . 


32 


I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE, . 




. 34 


YOU'RE WELCOME, WHIGS, 




37 


THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE, . 




. 40 


THE BRAES OF KILLIECRANKIE, 




43 


SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION ! 


. 45 


THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE, 




46 


THE PIPER O' DUNDEE, 




. 49 


CARLE, AN THE KING COME ! . 




51 


THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN, 


• 


. 53 


THE HIGHLAND MUSTER-ROLL, 1715, 




55 


KENMURE 'S ON AND AWA', WILLIE, 




. 58 


THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, 




60 


UP AND WAUR THEM A', WILLIE, 




. 67 


THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING, 


. 


70 


AWA', WHIGS, AW A' ! 




. 72 


TO DAUNTON ME, 




74 


THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE, 




. 75 


here's TO THE KING, SIR, 




79 


THE BLACK BIRD, . 




. 81 


THE WHITE COCKADE, . 


• 


84 



CONTENTS. 



johnie cope, 

tranent muir, 

charlie is my darling, 

lewie gordon, 

you're welcome, charlie stuart, 

lady keith's lament, 

over the water to charlie, . 

the souters o' selkirk, 



PAGH 

86 

88 

94 

95 

98 

100 

102 

104 



fraraus Sflnjs 



THE WOOING OF JENNY AND JOCK, . 

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE, 

DAME, DO THE THING WHILK I DESIRE 

EVER ALAKE MY AULD GUIDMAN, 

I HA'E LAID THREE HERRING IN SAUT, 

DONALD COUPER, 

HAUD AWA', BIDE AWA' ! 

HAUD AWA' FRAE ME, DONALD 

TIBBIE FOWLER, 

BONNIE DUNDEE, . 

RATTLIN' ROARIN' WILLIE, . 

AS I CAME IN BY FISHERRAW, 

THE AULD MAN'S MARE 's DEAD, 

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN, 

THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL, 

SCORNFUL NANCY, 

THE COCK-LAIRD, 

MY JO JANET, 

ANDRO AND HIS CUTTY GUN, 

WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG. 

MUIRLAND WILLIE, . 

MAGGIE LAUDER, 

THE GABERLUNYIE MAN, 

THE HUMBLE BEGGAR, . 



109 
112 
115 
118 
120 
124 
126 
129 
130 
132 
136 
139 
141 
144 
146 
153 
156 
158 
162 
165 
168 
172 
175 
179 



• CONTENTS. 


vii 




PAGE 


O, AN YE WERE DEAD, GUIDMAN, . 


181 


THE BRISK YOUNG LAD, .... 


„ 182 


OUR GUIDMAN CAM HAME AT E'EN, . 


184 


GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR, 


. 190 


TODLIN HAME, .... 


192 


THE MILLER, ..... 


. 194 


HOOLY AND FAIRLY, 


196 


THE LASS OF LIVINGSTONE, 


. 199 


MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING, 


t 201 


THE WEARY PUND O' TOW, 


. 203 


woo'd, and married, and a', 


206 


AULD ROB MORRIS, .... 


. 210 


GALA WATER, .... 


213 


THE HIGHLANDMAN'S COMPLAINT, 


.216 


THE ROCK AND THE WEE PICKLE TOW, 


219 


TULLOCHGORUM, ..... 


. 221 


EWIE Wl' THE CROOKIT HORN, 


225 


I 'LL GAR OUR GUIDMAN TROW, 


. 229 


GREEN GROW THE RASHES, . 


230 


GIN YE MEET A BONNIE LASSIE, 


. 232 


THE MUCKING o' GEORDIE's BYRE, . 


234 


MY WIFE SHALL HA'E HER WILL, . . 


. 236 


WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT, . 


238 


MY AULD MAN, ..... 


. 239 


ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT, 


240 


THE WREN, . . . . o 


. 242 


BABITY BOWSTER, .... 


244 


jenny's BABEE, ..... 


. 245 


Sentimental Swp, 




FIENT A CRUM OF THEE SHE FAWS, 


. 249 


HEY, NOW THE DAY DAWS ! 


251 


THE BANKS OF HELICON, 


. 253 


FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL, 


256 



viii CONTENTS. 

cromlet's lilt, .... 

anne bothwell's lament, . 

i do confess thou'rt smooth and fair. 

guid night, and joy be wl' yoij a', 

old long syne, 

auld lang syne, 

o waly, waly, . . 

blink over the burn, sweet betty, 

saw ye my father, 

leader haughs and yarrow, 

omnia vincit amor, 

the birks of abergeldy, . 

john hay's bonnie lassie, 

within a mile of edinburgh, 

katherine ogie, 

annie laurie, 

were na my heart licht i wad dee, 

the ewe-buchtin 's bonnie, 

the yellow-haired laddie, . 

the waukin' o' the fauld, 

bessy bell and mary gray, . 

the last time i cam o'er the muir, 

the young laird and edinburgh katte 

katie's answer, 

the lass o' patie's mill, 

woe's my heart that we should sunder, 

the highland laddie, 

lochaber no more, 

ettrick banks, 

tweedside, older song, 

tweedside, newer song, . 

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR, 

MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE, 

ONE DAY I HEARD MARY SAY, 

DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE, 

TO MRS A. H., ON SEEING HER AT A CONCERT, 

BUSK YE, BUSK YE, . 

AH, THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE, 



CONTENTS. 


ix 




PAGE 


THE BRUME 0' THE COWDENKNOWES, older SOng, 


. 360 


cowdenknowes, newer song, 


362 


SAW YE JOHNIE COMING? .... 


. 367 


Dumbarton's drums, .... 


369 


AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING, 


. 372 


THE EWE-BUCHTS, ..... 


374 


THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY, .... 


. 376 


ROSLIN CASTLE, ..... 


378 


PINKIE HOUSE, . . . . 


. 380 


TARRY WOO, ...... 


382 


MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED, .... 


. 385 


SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN ! 


388 


johnie's GRAY BREEKS, .... 


. 391 


SHAME FA' THE GEAR, . . 


393 


LOGIE O' BUCHAN, ..... 


. 395 


JENNY NETTLES, ..... 


397 


LOW DOUN IN THE BRUME, .... 


. 400 


THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE, . . 


402 


THE PLOUGHMAN, . . . . . 


. 404 


AYE WAUKIN' ! . 


406 


THE LEE-RIG, ...... 


. 407 


KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME, .... 


409 


THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND, .... 


. 412 


WANDERING WILLIE, .... 


413 


I LO'E NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE, 


. 414 


Webster's lines, ..... 


417 


BIDE YE YET, . 


. 419 


FOR LACK OF GOLD, ..... 


420 


there's nae LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE, 


. 422 


THE BOATIE ROWS, ..... 


425 


AULD ROBIN GRAY, 


. 428 


ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH, 


433 


LOCH ERROCH SIDE, ..... 


. 437 


OWER THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER, 


440 


O GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE, 


. 442 


FALSE LOVE, AND HA'E YOU PLAYED ME THIS? 


444 


CAN YE SEW CUSHIONS? .... 


. 445 


THE SILLER CROUN, ... t > 


447 



x CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

mary's dream, ....... 448 

logan water, . . • • . 450 

GAE TO THE KYE Wl' ME, JOHNIE, .... 452 

WILL YE GO TO FLANDERS? .... 454 



the ewe-buchtin's bonnie {the air), .... 455 

INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES OF THE SONGS, . . 457 




Several Vignettes in the present volume, it will be perceived, are copied 
from the tasteful and characteristic sketches in Ritson, and which are 
believed to have been executed by David Allan. 



INTRODUCTORY HISTORICAL SKETCH. 

FOR the heart to break forth in song, whether to express love, 
merriment, or national and political sentiment, is so natural, 
that we may safely contemplate song as one of the earliest 
forms of literary composition in all countries. As far as Scotland is 
concerned — we find that the death of Alexander III. (1286 a. d.) 
was bewailed in a popular song ; that the Scots had satirical songs 
on Edward I. and admiring ditties regarding Sir William Wallace ; 
and that the triumph over the English at Bannoekburn was 
hailed in an outburst of rude, but joyful verse. We find various 
allusions to popular songs in the histories of the fourteenth and 
fifteenth centuries, and in such poems of those ages as have 
survived, a whole catalogue of such ditties being given in the 
comic piece called CocJcilby's Sow, which appears to have been 
composed in the middle of the fifteenth century. Only names, 
however, or at the utmost odd lines and verses of these early 
canticles, have been preserved ; and, on the whole, they give us 
little insight into the general condition of song literature in 
those days. The utmost that we can be said to learn from them 
is, that there were songs in Scotland during the Bruce and early 
Stuart reigns — a fact of which a general knowledge of human 
nature would have assured us, even had not a trace of such 
compositions survived. 

Another fact — a negative one, but of considerable importance — 
is revealed to us by the time we arrive at the middle of the 
sixteenth century. Scotland could then boast of a brilliant series 
of regular poets, all existing within the preceding eighty years — 



xii INTRODUCTION. 

Henryson, Douglas, Dunbar, and others ; but amongst all their 
compositions, there are none strictly of the nature of songs. Such 
men never thought of composing songs ; that is, lyrical compo- 
sitions to be sung to music by the people. The People appear to 
have been in all but comparatively recent times the makers of 
their own songs. The occasion was the inspiration. A peasant 
felt the charms of his mistress, and a song upon that subject came 
as naturally from him as the sighs he expired. A droll, or a 
romantic, or a tragic occurrence, drew general attention, and was 
irresistibly crystallised into verse, through the medium of some 
mind that was poetical without knowing what poetry was. A 
crisis took place in the national affairs, and it somehow found 
expression through the same channel. It was beneath the poets 
of culture, the bishop Gavin Douglas, the priests Kennedy, 
Henryson, and Dunbar, to contemplate anything so natural and 
familiar as a subject for their muses. 

And such continued to be in a great measure the case for a 
long time after the middle of the sixteenth century ; for when we 
examine the writings of Montgomery and Drummond, of Hume 
and Wedderburn, the poets of the reigns of James VI. and 
Charles I., we discover nothing strictly describable as a popular 
Scottish song. 1 The composing of such lyrics still mainly rested 
with the unpretending multitude, as it had always hitherto done. 
It is only to be admitted, exceptionally, that probably the song of 
Tak your Auld Cloak about ye, and perhaps one or two others, 
had been written about the reign of Mary, and, as we may infer 
from their good literary style, "by bards of education and refine- 
ment, albeit too proud to acknowledge a contribution to the 
anthology of the vulgar. In the whole of the long series of 
poems collected into the Bannatyne Manuscript, anno 1568, it 
is remarkable that there are but two pieces — The Wooing of 
Jenny and Jock, and Fient a Crum of thee she faws — which have 
ever been accepted into collections of Scottish songs. 

1 It will be found that a composition of the nature of a song, but of a 
formal kind, by Montgomery, has been introduced in this collection. 



INTRODUCTION. xiii 

The long era of the religious struggles brings before us but 
one fact in respect of our national minstrelsy — namely, that it 
was looked upon as a thing low, clandestine, and sinful : the 
clergy treated it as simply one of the bad habits of the people. 
Of this we have a curious illustration in a Buhe of Godly Sang 's, 
which was first printed in 1599, and a second time with additions 
in 1 62 1, being an assemblage of dull religious lyrics, many of 
them composed to the tunes of the vulgar songs of the day, 
with a view to superseding these, ' for the avoidance of sin and 
harlotrie.' In this indirect and most unexpected manner, we 
become aware that there was then a popular song called John, 
come Kiss me noio ; a lullaby styled Ba-lu-la-lu ; a song com- 
mencing with the significant inquiry, 'Who is at my window ? 
who, who 1 ' another, styled from its refrain, ' Hey, the day now 
daws,' &c. Of the success of this attempt to induce the people 
to chant the institutes of Calvinism, as an improvement upon 
such subjects as bonny lasses, good ale, and country merry- 
makings, history does not inform us. 

There was indeed an obvious distinction to be made between 
the words and the tunes ; as, while the former might be coarse, 
puerile, or otherwise disqualified for decent society, the attrac- 
tions of the music were in no such way alloyed. It has hence 
resulted that we have a manuscript so early as the reign of 
Charles I., containing a large selection of the national airs, while 
no such collection of the songs appears to have been thought of 
till some generations later. The manuscript in question appears 
to have been the lute-book of a lady of the family of Skene of 
Hallyards, so eminent in the law in the reigns of James VI. 
and Charles I. It contains eighty-five tunes, many of which 
were dances, as the titles Brangle, Currant, &c, suggest, while 
others were obviously the airs to which the popular songs of the 
era were sung. Of the latter, however, but a few can be recog- 
nised as identical with airs still popular, and these for the most 
part are much altered, and have undergone a change of name. 
Only two airs still popular — namely, The Flowers of the Forest, 
and Bonnie Dundee — appear under the same, or nearly the same 



xiv INTRODUCTION. 

names, and with little difference of strain, in the Skene Manu- 
script. 1 

As far as the literature of the subject is concerned, it fully 
appears to have pursued a life of contempt till after the Restora- 
tion, when what Eitson calls the golden age of song commenced 
in England. The earliest glimpses we have of it on the horizon 
of the parlour or concert-room, occur in the reigns of Charles II. 
and James II. It is not in Scotland, however, that it first 
emerges among the polite, but in England. It fell to the lot of 
those who supplied music and song to the court and its connected 
circles in London, to perceive that there was some merit in the 
songs which passed from mouth to mouth amongst the people 
of Scotland. They accordingly began to write new verses for 
the Scotch tunes, and to compose new tunes and songs in what 
was called 'the Scotch manner:' some of the latter, strange to 
say, made their way back to Scotland, and were accepted there 
as true Scotch productions. The famous Thomas Durfey was an 
active labourer in this field, as appears from Ms w r ell-known 
collection styled Wit and Mirth ; and the Roxburghe Collection 
of broadside ballads in the British Museum, shews that Grub 
Street contributed a large quota to the stock of what may be 
called Anglo-Scottish songs. 

When Scotland herself began, after the Revolution, to rise 
above her religious troubles, and to pay some attention to 
secular matters, the upper class, and especially that section of 
it which inclined to Episcopacy and Jacobitism, became also 
aware that their country possessed an inheritance of some value 
in her popular songs and melodies. 2 There remained, indeed, 

1 The tunes in the Skene Manuscript were printed with a learned 
dissertation by "William Dauney, Esq. Edinburgh, 4to, 1 838. 

2 The earliest published collection of Scottish music appears to have 
been Henry Playford's, which is dated 1700, being for the violin and 
flute. In the list, which embraces thirty-nine tunes, many of them 
dances, we recognise what may be presumed to be still existing favourites 
in, I love my Love in secret ; Good-night, and God be with you ; Gingling 
Geordie ; Stir her up and haud her gaun ; Bessie Bell ; Wap at the 



INTRODUCTION. xv 

the serious objection that the upland Muse was of upland 
manners and upland dress. Although the ladies and gentlemen 
of that day were not by any means what we should now call 
overrefined, still they were on a different level from the lads 
and lasses of the farmer's hall. It became necessary for the 
reception of the melodies, many of which were of the highest 
beauty, that they should be adapted to songs of a pure, or 
comparatively pure character. Accordingly, the era of Anne 
and George I. is marked by a large fresh growth of Scottish 
song, mostly by persons of condition, as Robert Crawford, 
William Hamilton of Gilbertfield, Lady Grizel Baillie, &c. — but, 
in a greater measure, by Allan Ramsay, who further pronroted 
the cause by his collection of songs styled The Tea-table Mis- 
cellany, which began to be published in 1 724. Under this new 
flush of song literature, the old popular ditties fell like weeds 
before a garden culture, to the loss, no doubt, of much we should 
now wish to possess, for its power of illustrating the history of 
the national intellect, but as undoubtedly to the benefit of the 
public taste and morality. Then it was that such polite society 
as assembled for the winter in Edinburgh permitted, for the 
first time, of the singing of Scotch songs at their tea-parties, 
or other meetings, with the accompaniment, it might be, 
of the spinnet or lute, but more generally without any 
such aid, and still more rarely with a second or third voice. 
Allan Ramsay assisted to make this a favourite amusement by 
publishing, in connection with Ms Tea-table Miscellany, a small 
collection of Scottish airs, the title-page of which, representing 
a lady at the spiimet and a gentleman with a violoncello, is 
here reproduced as a sort of glimpse of the musical enjoyments 
of the period. Nearly about the same time, an instructed 
musician, named William Thomson, produced a handsome 

Widow, my Laddie ; If Love is the cause of my Mourning ; The Birks of 
Abergeldie ; For old long syne, my Jo; Widow, gin thou be waking ; 
Alas, my heart, that we should sunder ; The Lass of Livingstone ; 
The Deil stick the Minister. — See Additional Illustrations to Johnson's 
Museum, by Mr D. Laing, xc. 



xvi INTRODUCTION. 

assemblage of the best Scotch songs with the music, under the 
title of Orpheus Caledonius, the first volume of which was dedi- 
cated to the Queen, and the second to the Duchess of Hamilton. 




Lady playing on Spinet, with Violoncello Accompaniment. — From a 
volume entitled Music for Tea-table Miscellany, published by 
Allan Ramsay. 
During the sixty years following upon the publication of The 
Tea-table Miscellany, the repeated editions of that collection and 
the appearance of several others, particularly the ample one of 
Mr David Herd, attested the continued esteem of all classes for 
the national songs of Scotland. In that time, we find many 
capital songs produced, some of them by persons of elevated 
station ; as, for example, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Miss Jean Elliot, and 
Lady Anne Lindsay. Others expressing the feelings of a portion 
of the community for the cause of the Stuart family, were thrown 
into the general stock, and not a little to its enrichment, as, some- 
how, what stood ill with the parliamentary senate of Great 



INTRODUCTION. xvii 

Britain contrived to make a tolerably fair appearance in the 
court of Apollo. We find in the productions of this era much 
effective poetry, free from all objections in point of good taste 
and morality ; but no one can read Mr Herd's volumes (1776) 
without acknowledging that there was still a great infusion of 
the rude, and even the licentious, in the class of songs familiar 
to the common people. 

It is also to be observed, that during this middle part of the 
eighteenth century, considerable additions were made to the 
national stock of melodies. The popularity which the original 
rustic airs had acquired in the time of Ramsay, caused a number 
of airs in the same style to be composed by instructed musicians ; 
amongst whom none was more notable than James Oswald, 
originally a teacher of music, successively at Dunfermline and 
in Edinburgh, but who, about 1741, settled as a music-publisher 
in London, where he attained the appointment of church- 
composer to George III. During the same epoch, several ample 
collections of the Scottish melodies were published ; one in 
twelve small volumes by Oswald himself. 

It remained for Robert Burns to arise and purge away what 
dross remained in the national song. At the time of his appear- 
ance in Edinburgh (1787) a worthy tradesman named Johnson, 
who practised a style of music-engraving by punch or stamp- 
marking, had commenced a collection of the national songs and 
airs, under the title of the Scots Musical Museum. The project 
caught the fancy of Burns, and he threw himself into it with 
characteristic ardour. He contributed songs of his own. He 
gathered others heretofore inedited. He furnished purified and 
improved versions of many homely ditties. He noted down 
many airs also ' hitherto unknown to paper. He induced others 
to assist him. At the same time, a respectable musician, Mr 
Stephen Clark, adjusted the airs and fitted them with accom- 
paniments. The final result was, that Johnson's Museum became 
all but an exhaustive collection of the Scotch songs and their 
melodies, the entire number comprehended being six hundred, 
whereof a hundred and seventy-nine were furnished by Burns, 



xviii INTRODUCTION. 

generally with at the least some brightening touch from his 
masterly hand. It remained only to be regretted, that a consider- 
able number of songs unfit for decorous society was permitted to 
mingle with the general mass. A new edition of this work was 
published by Messrs Blackwood in 1838, with an ample supple- 
ment of prose notes by the late Mr William Stenhouse and Mr 
David Laing — the former a type of all that is faithless and 
inaccurate in editorship, the latter precisely the reverse. It is 
on the whole a valuable book, and one not to be dispensed with 
by any one who desires a minute acquaintance with the subject. 



The present Volume is intended to embody the whole of the 
Pre-Burnsian songs of Scotland that possess merit and are pre- 
sentable, along with the music ; each accompanied by its own 
history, as far as that can be ascertained. It is meant as 
historical in its general scope and arrangement, and may be 
sufficient, perhaps, to satisfy all ordinary inquirers into the 
subject, as a department of the national literature. It is also 
hoped that the collection may be serviceable amongst those who 
have not consented to the entire banishment of our national airs 
from the drawing-room. 





I 've heard the lilt - ing at our yowe milk - ing, 



^fcg=tf^ pS 



es a - lilt - ing be - fore the dawn of day; 



m ^=^=m ^m^^- 



But now they're moan -ing on 



i 



iJSjE^: 



ka green loan-ing — The 



y — i — • 

Flowers of the Fo - rest ar 



a' wede a - way. 



22 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Such is the early form of this melody, as preserved in the 
Skene Manuscript (see Introduction). The first and fourth lines 
of the verse set to it, are the remains of an old ballad, for which 
probably it was the appropriate air, and of which Sir Walter 
Scott caught up one other fragment, presenting, he remarked, 1 a 
simple and affecting image to the mind : 

[Now] I ride single on my saddle, 

For the flowers of the forest are a' wede away. 

It seems to relate to some depopulating blow sustained by the 
district commonly called the Forest — namely, Selkirkshire. 
Such an incident we readily discover in Scottish history, in 
the overthrow of the army of James IV. at Flodden, September 

I5I3- 

In the last century, there lived in Edinburgh an unmarried 
lady of family, who is remembered as the chief ornament of her 
circle, through her talents, intelligence, and good sense — Miss 
Jean Elliot of Minto. Her father was Sir Gilbert Elliot of 
Minto, Lord Justice-clerk of Scotland, the able son of an able 
father, who rose in high state employments under King William, 
with whom he had returned from an unmerited exile, sustained 
under the misgovernment of the Stuarts. A son of the Justice- 
clerk, bearing his own name, was also a man of eminent talents, 
which he did not disdain occasionally to exercise in penning 
verses. It is stated that Miss Jeanie, who was born in 1727, 
shewed such lively faculties in her girlhood, that even then her 
father would employ her to read his law-papers to him, and 
declared that he profited by the shrewdness of her remarks. 
One day, having a conversation with her on the Battle of 
Flodden, he offered a bet that she would not compose a ballad 
on that subject ; 2 and thus it came to pass that she took up 
the fragments of the old lost ballad, and restored them, as it 
were, to life in the following composition : 

1 Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 128. 

2 Mr D. Laing's Notes on Stenhouse, Johnson's Museum, i. *I3I. 



THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. 23 

I 've heard the lilting at our yowe-milking, 

Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day ; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 



At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning 
The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae ; 

Nae damn', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, 
Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away. 

In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ; 

At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming, 
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 



Dule and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! 

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost, 

The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay. 

We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking, 
Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 

Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

Miss Elliot died at her brother Admiral Elliot's house of 
Mount Teviot, Boxburghshire, on the 29th March 1805. It 
cannot apparently be ascertained that she wrote any other song 



•24 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



or poem ; but the probability, of course, is, that she did not 
restrict herself to this one hapj)y effusion. 

Contemporary with Miss Elliot, there lived in Edinburgh 
another lady of family, possessed like her of most attractive 
social qualities, and a frequent and ready writer of verses. Born 
Alison Rutherford of Fernylee, Selkirkshire, she married, in 
1 73 1, Mr Patrick Cockburn, advocate, whom she long survived. 
She was also familiar with the old ballad of The Floivers of the 
Forest, and some years, it is believed, before Miss Elliot's song 
was written, composed one to the same tune, and with the same 
burden, not referring to Flodden, but to a crisis of a monetary 
nature, when seven good lairds of the Forest were reduced to 
insolvency, in consequence of imprudent speculations. Mrs 
Cockburn's sono,- was as follows : 




m 



s 



EE BEEgEE EIE Egi 



53 



^ B gsaag 



j= 



I've seen the smil-ing of For -tune be -guil - ing, 

*-|V 



ps^f^^s? 



-jt±i 



felt all its fa-vours and found its de - eay ; 



ifegs^gg^^g 



Sweet was its bless - ing, kind its ca - ress - ing, But 




I've seen the fo - rest a - dor - ned the fore - most, With 



THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. 25 



Pi^ ^m^mm ^ 



flow - ers of the fair - est, most plea - sant and gay ; Sat 






bon-nywas their bloom-ing! their scent the air per-fu-ming! But 






-sJ— : 



now they are wi-ther-ed and weed-ed a - way. 



I 've felt all its favours and found its decay ; 
Sweet was its blessing, kind its caressing, 
But now it is fled — fled far away ! 

I 've seen the forest adorned the foremost 

With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay ; 

Sae bonnie was their blooming ! their scent the air per- 
fuming ! 
But now they are withered and weeded away. 

I 've seen the morning with gold the hills adorning, 
And loud tempest storming before the mid-day. 

I 've seen Tweed's silver streams, shining in the sunny beams, 
Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way. 

Oh, fickle Fortune, why this cruel sporting ? 

Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day ? 
Nae mair your smiles can cheer me, nae mair your frowns 
can fear me ; 

For the Flowers of the Forest are withered away. 



26 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. 



*fc 



My love built me a bon - nie bower, And 



'At 



PSS 



fit 



5E 



clad it 



li - ly flow'r ; A braw - er bouir ye 



P 



-W-K 






st 



S=F=^ 



ne'er did 



Than 



my true lov - er built for me. 



My love built me a boimie bower, 
And clad it a' wi' lily flower ; 
A brawer bouir ye ne'er did see, 
Than my true lover built for me. 

There cam a man at mid-day hour, 
He heard my song and he saw my bouir — 
And he brocht armed men that nicht, 
And brake my bouir and slew my knicht. 

He slew my knicht, to me sae dear, 
And burnt my bouir and drave my gear. 
My servants a' for life did flee, 
And left me in extremitie. 

I sew'd his sheet and made my maen ; 
I watch'd his corpse, myself alane ; 
I watch'd by nicht and I watch'd by day ; 
No living creature came that way. 



GILDEROY. 27 

I bore his body on my back, 
And whyles I went and whyles I sat ; 
I digg'd a grave and laid him in 7 
And happ'd him wi' the sod sae green. 

But think na ye my heart was sair, 
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ; 
Oh, think na ye my heart was wae, 
When I turn'd about, away to gae 1 

The man lives not I '11 love again, 
Since that my comely knicht is slain. 
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
I '11 bind my heart for evermair. 

Sir Walter Scott published this affecting piece as a ' fragment 
obtained from recitation in the Forest of Ettrick.' He regarded 
it as probably relating to the death of Cockburn of Hender- 
land, a freebooter, who was hanged over the gate of his own 
tower by King James V. in 1529. Its being a genuine relic of 
antiquity may fairly be a subject of doubt. The resemblance 
of the poetry to that of Fair Helen of Kirkconnel is worthy 
of notice. 



GILDEROY. 

The subject of the following amatory elegy was a man named 
Patrick Macgregor, but more familiarly Gillieroy (the red-haired 
lad), who, after a desperate course of stouthrief and oppression 
practised for some years at the head of a band of followers, 
chiefly in the Highlands of Aberdeenshire, was hanged with his 
whole party, ten in number, at the Cross of Edinburgh, July 
27, 1636. The present ballad, an improvement upon a rude 
contemporary one, was first printed in Durfey's Pills to Purge 
Melancholy, volume v., 17 19. It has been several times printed 
as the composition of a Sir Alexander Halket, but entirely 
through a mistake, there being in reality no such person. 



28 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



i 



^E 



S 



;■*!- 



^ 



y= 



Gil - de - roy was a bon - nie boy ; Had 



^E^^^ ^^^g 



ros - es till his shoon ; His 



stock - ings were of 



w^^^^m 



S£ 



silk - en soy, Wr 



gar - ters hang - ing down : It 



g^^^pB^g 



was, I ween, a come - ly sicht, To see sae trim a 



S 



^T^T| Jfg ^=f^ 



boy ; He 



was my joy and heart's de - licht, My 



i 



¥=Ff 



t=£j 



hand - some Gil - de - roy. 

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy ; 

Had roses till his shoon ; 
His stockings were of silken soy, 

WT garters banging down : 
It was, I ween, a comely sicht, 

To see sae trim a boy ; 
He was my joy and heart's delicht, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Oh, sic twa charming een he had, 
A breath as sweet 's a rose ; 

He never wore a Highland plaid, 
But costly silken clothes : 



GILDEROY. 29 



He gain'd the love o' ladies gay, 
Nane e'er to him was coy : 

Ah, wae is me ! I mourn the day, 
For my dear Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy and I were horn 

Baith in ae town thegither ; 
We scant were seven years "before 

We 'gan to love each other. 
Our daddies and our mammies, they 

Were fill'd with meikle joy, 
To think upon the bridal-day 

'Twixt me and Gilderoy. 

For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, 

Gude faith, I freely bought 
A wedding-sark of Holland fine, 

Wi' silken flowers wrought ; 
And he gied me a wedding-ring, 

Which I received with joy : 
Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing 

Like me and Gilderoy. 

Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime 

Till we were baith sixteen ; 
And aft we pass'd the langsome time 

Amang the leaves sae green : 
Aft on the banks we 'd sit us there, 

And sweetly kiss and toy ; 
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Oh, that he still had been content 

Wi' me to lead his life ! 
But, ah, his manfu' heart was bent 

To stir in feats of strife ; 



30 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

And he in many a venturous deed, 
His courage bauld wad try, 

And now this gars my heart to bleed 
For my dear Gilderoy. 

And when of me his leave he took, 

The tears they wat mine e'e ; 
I gave him a love-parting look, 

My benison gang wi' thee ! 
God-speed thee weel, mine ain dear heart. 

For gane is all my joy ; 
My heart is rent, sith we maun part, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy, baith far and near, 

Was fear'd in ilka toun, 
And bauldly bare away the gear 

Of mony a Lawland loun : 
Nane e'er durst meet him hand to hand, 

He was sae brave a boy ; 
At length wi' numbers he was ta'en, 

My handsome Gilderoy ! .- 

The Queen of Scots possessit nocht, 

That my luve let me want ; 
For cow and ewe he to me brocht, 

And e'en when they were scant : 
All those did honestly possess, 

He never did annoy, 
Who never fail'd to pay their cess 

To my love Gilderoy. 

Wae worth the loun that made the laws 

To hang a man for gear ! 
To reave of life for ox or ass, 

For sheep, or horse, or mear ! 



GILDEROY. 

Had not their laws been made so strict, 

I ne'er had lost my joy ; 
Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheik 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, 

He micht have banish'd been ; 
Ah, what sair crnelty is this, 

To hang sic handsome men ! 
To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 

Sae sweit and fair a boy ! 
Nae lady had sae white a hand 

As thee, my Gilderoy ! 

Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were, 

They bound him meikle strong ; 
Till Edinburgh they led him there, 

And on a gallows hung : 
They hung him high abune the rest, 

He was sae trim a boy ; 
There died the youth whom I loo'd best, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Thus having yielded up his breath, 

I bare his corpse away ; 
Wi' tears that trickled for his death, 

I wash'd his comely clay ; 
And sicker in a grave sae deep 

I laid the dear-loo'd boy ; 
And now for ever maun I weep 

My winsome Gilderoy. 

The old broadside version of Gilderoy ran thus : 

My love he was as brave a man 
As ever Scotland bred ; 

Descended from a Highland clan, 
A kateran to his trade. 



32 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

No woman, then, or womankind, 
Had ever greater joy, 

Than we two, when we lodged alone, 
I and my Gilderoy. 

First, when I and my love met, 
With joy he did me crown ; 

He gave me a new petticoat, 
And then a tartan gown, &c. 

There is something touching in the conclusion : 

And now he is in Edinburgh town ; 

'Twas long ere I came there ; 
They hanged him upon a-hie, 

And he wagg'd in the air. 
His relics they were more esteem'd 

Than Hector's were at Troy ; 
I never love to see the face 

That gazed on Gilderoy ! 



GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO LONGMARSTON MOOR. 

The civil war, deeply as Scotland was involved in it, has 
handed us down extremely little of song. The genius of 
Presbyterianisrn, which enlisted the soldiers, and carried them 
into the bloodiest struggles, was not in any way kindred to the 
muse. We do not hear of the covenanting armies having even 
required the ordinary stimulus of music to accompany their 
marches. There is, however, one rude legendary piece, which 
Allan Ramsay has published under the name of General Leslie's 
March to Longmarston Moor, and which may be accepted 
(though still with some hesitation) as a relic of that terrible 
era. An air afterwards appeared in Oswald's Second Collection, 
under the name of Lesleijs March. Song and air are both 
repeated here, not as likely to be of any use for parlour singing, 
but as historical curiosities. 



GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH. 



33 






1 



pm^^^^^mS^i 





iiS^^fa ^^fefl 



March, march ! wliy the deil clinna ye march ? 

Stand to your arms, my lads ; fight in good order. 
Front about, ye musketeers all, 

Till ye come to the English border. 

Stand till 't and fight like men, 

True gospel to maintain ; 
The parliament 's blythe to see us a-coming — 

[The bishops, a popish breed, 

When you have crossed the Tweed, 
Will faint to hear your sanctified drumming. 1 ] 

March, march ! &c. 

When to the kirk we come, 
We '11 purge it ilka room, 

1 The lines within brackets are modern. 



34 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Frae popish relics and sic innovations, 

That a' the world may see, 

There 's nane in the right bnt we, 
Of the [guid] auld Scottish nation. 

March, march ! &c. 

Jenny shall wear the hood, 

Jockie the sark of God, 
And the kist-fu' o' whistles that maks sic a' cleerie, 

Our pipers braw 

Shall hae them a' — 
[Laud and his crew shall gae tapsal-teerie !] 

Whatever come on it, whatever come on it, 

Busk up your plaids, my lads, cock up your bonnets ! 



I 'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE. 

There was a tune prevalent in England hi the early part of 
the seventeenth century, under the name of I'll never Love thee 
more, probably from the refrain or recurring final line of the 
stanzas of the song to which it was sung, and which song may 
have been identical with one found in a manuscript volume of 
songs and ballads, with music, in the handwriting of John 
Gamble, the composer, dated 1659, which Mr William Chappell 1 
states to be now in the possession of Dr Rimbault — beginning 
thus ; 

My dear and only love, take heed, 

How thou thyself expose, 
By letting longing lovers feed 

Upon such looks as those. 
I '11 marble-wall thee round about, 

And build without a door ; 
But if thy heart do once break out 

I '11 never love thee more. 

1 Popular Music of the Olden Time, i. 3S0. 



I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE. 



35 



That extraordinary genius, the Marquis of Montrose, whom 
Cardinal du Ketz deemed the most like a Plutarchian hero of 
all his contemporaries, had, in addition to his other brilliant 
gifts, a power of verse-making, which he exercised on various 
remarkable occasions — for one, it will be remembered, in 
addressing the portrait of the martyred Charles the night before 
his own execution. He appears to have become acquainted with 
the popular song of My Dear and only Love, take heed, and to 
have been impelled to compose something of the same strain, 
but addressed to the state for which he made such exertions 
and such sacrifices, instead of a flesh-and-blood mistress. The 
result was a piece which has been often reprinted under the 
name of Montrose's Lynes ; of which a copy follows, adapted 
to the English melody : 



pi pppgggj ^^^a g 



p 



My dear and on-ly love, I pray That lit-tle world of 

fcf 



e£ 



53S 



*fc 



$^m 



-*-* 



thee, Be govern 'd by no oth - er sway But pu - rest mon-ar 



P^^^^ ^^S 



chv: 



For if con - f u - sion have a part, Which 



i 



*=* 



§3 



n^ 



*=* : 



vn-tuous souls ab 



hor, 



I'll call 



a svn - od 



pg^pH ^i 



in my heart, And aev-er love thee more. 



36 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

My dear and only love, I pray 

That little world of thee 
Be govern'd by no other sway 

But purest monarchy ; 
For if confusion have a part, 

Which virtuous souls abhor, 
I '11 call a synod in my hearty 

And never love thee more. 



As Alexander I will reign, 

And I will reign alone ; 
My thoughts did evermore disdain 

A rival on my throne. 
He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the touch, 

To gain or lose it all. 

But I will reign, and govern still, 

And always give the law, 
And have each subject at my will, 

And all to stand in awe : 
But 'gainst my batt'ries, if I find 

Thou storm, or vex me sore, 
As if thou set me as a blind, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

A.nd in the empire of thy heart, 

Where I should solely be, 
If others do pretend a part, 

Or dare to share with me ; 
Or committees if thou erect, 

Or go on such a score, 
I '11 smiling mock at thy neglect, 

And never love thee more. 



YOU 'RE WELCOME, WHIGS. 37 

But if no faithless action stain 

Thy love and constant word, 
I '11 make thee famous by my pen, 

And glorious by my sword. 
I '11 serve thee in such noble ways, 

As ne'er was known before ; 
I '11 deck and crown thy head with bays, 

And love thee more and more, 1 



YOU'RE WELCOME, WHIGS. 

At the Revolution of 1689, the Tories — thenceforward named 
Jacobites — lost power, but acquired wit. From that time, 
throughout well-nigh a century, while unable to make effective 
head against a parliament-elected dynasty and liberal principles 
of government in church and state, they were at least in some 
favour with the Muses, and were able to assail their conquerors 
with a continual pelt of paper missiles, not always stupid or 
simply vindictive. Often, too, their sufferings for the exiled 
royal family gave scope to a pathos far above what might have 
otherwise been looked for from the partisans of an expiring 
idea. 

First in the series of their satiric effusions stands a piece which 
must be allowed to be very bitter and very unjust, but which, 
after all, is (with the omission of one or two rough stanzas) 
eligible for preservation, as having more wit than usual in 
proportion to its gall. 

1 From Watson's Collection of Scots Poems.j Part iii. 171 1. 



38 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



pf^^^p^=jH=^^ 



1e 



You 're wel - come, Whigs, from Both - well brigs, You 're 



m 



Ei 



lice 



but 



zeal, boys 



m 



Most 



If 



ill 



ho - ly sprites, the hy - po - crites, 



'Tis 



^=£=3±=m ? 



ii 



m 



sack 



ye drink, not 



ale. 



boys 



P 



must 



ye 



In 



fat 



m 



break - hu 



God's com - mand, boys: 



e 



S^ 



S : 



You 've 



ye 



in - fringe bish - ops or 



kins 



^^ 



g 



=£ 



hea - ven in your hand, boys. 

Yon 're welcome, Whigs, from Bothwell brigs ! 

Your malice is but zeal, boys ; 
Most holy sprites, the hypocrites, 

'Tis sack ye drink, not ale, boys ; 



YOU'RE WELCOME, WHIGS. 39 

I must aver, ye cannot err, 

In breaking God's command, boys ; 
If ye infringe bishops or kings, 

Yon 've heaven in your hand, boys. 



Suppose ye cheat, disturb the state, 

And steep the land with blood, 
If secretly your treachery 

Be acted, it is good, boys. 
The fiend himsel', in midst of hell, 

The pope with his intrigues, boys 
You'll equalise in forgeries : 

Fair fa' you, pious Whigs, boys. 



You lie, you lust, you break your trust, 

And act all kind of evil ; 
Your covenant makes you a saint, 

Although you live a devil. 
From murders too, as soldiers true, 

You are advanced well, boys ; 
You fought like devils, your only rivals, 

When you were at Dunkeld, boys. 

King William's hands, with lovely bands, 

You're decking with good speed, boys ; 
If you get leave you'll reach his sleeve, 

And then have at his head, boys. 
You're welcome, Jack, we'll join a plack, 

To drink your last confusion, 
That grace and truth you may possess 

Once more without delusion. 1 



1 This severe tirade upon the Presbyterians, from several allusions, 
seems to have been written between the years 1 690 and 1 700. 



40 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE. 

While Scotland was in the crisis of the Revolution settlement, 
an effort was made in behalf of the expatriated king by the 
Viscount Dundee (better known by his patrimonial name of 
Claverhouse or Claverse), who had great influence among the 
Highland clans, and easily gathered a few thousands of them 
together. An encounter took place between him and General 
Mackay at Killiecrankie, July 17, 1689, when the brave Dundee 
was victorious, but fell by a bullet-shot towards the close of the 
action. In the following probably contemporary ballad, the 
chief attention is drawn to the mode of fighting, and the 
sentiments and expressions of the mountaineer soldiery. 



i 



y-ft- 



^§#P 



Clav-erse and his High -land -men Came down up - on the 



E^^^m 



5 



raw, man ; Who, be - ing stout, gave mo - ny a shout ; The 



S=i3=£ 



S 



*=y 



lads be - gan to claw, then. Wi' sword and targe 



m^^^^m^^ 



to their hand, Wi' which they were na slaw, man ; Wi' 



£=33 



mo-ny a fear-fu' heavy sigh, The lads be -gan to claw, then. 



THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE. 41 

Claverse and his Highlandmen 

Came down upon the raw, man ; 
Who, being stout, gave mony a shout ; 

The lads began to claw, then. 
Wi' sword and targe into their hand, 

Wi' which they were na slaw, man ; 
Wi' mony a fearfu' heavy sigh, 

The lads began to claw, then. 

Ower bush, ower bank, ower ditch, ower stank, 

She flang amang them a', man ; 
The butter-box 1 gat mony knocks ; 

Their riggings paid for a', then. 
They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks, 

Which, to their grief they saw, man ; 
Wi' clinkum-clankum ower their crowns, 

The lads began to fa', then. 

Her 2 leap'd about, her skipp'd about, 

And flang amang them a', man ; 
The English blades got broken heads, 

Their crowns were cleaved in twa, then ; 
The durk and dour made their last hour, 

And proved their final fa', man ; 
They thocht the devil had been there, 

That play'd them sic a pa', man. 



1 Butter-box ; slang word for a Dutchman, on account of the great 
quantity of butter they eat. — Grose. In Mackay's little army there 
were several Dutch regiments. 

2 The Highlanders have only one pronoun, and as it happens to 
resemble the English word her, it has caused the Lowlanders to have 
a general impression that they mistake the feminine for the masculine 
gender. It has even become a sort of nickname for them, as in the 
present case, and in a subsequent verse, where it is extended to— 
Her-nain-sell. 



42 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cam whigging up the hill, man ; 
Thocht Highland trews durst not refuse 

For to subscribe their bill, then : 
In Willie's name, they thocht nae ane 

Durst stop their course at a', man ; 
But Her-nain-sell, wi' mony a knock, 

Cried, Furich, Whigs, awa', man. 

Sir Evan Dhu, 1 and his men true, 

Cam linking up the brink, man ; 
The Hogan Dutch, they feared such, 

They bred a horrid stink, then. 
The true MacLean, and his fierce men, 

Cam in amang them a', man ; 
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand ; 

A' fled and ran awa', then. 

Och on a righ ! och on a righ ! 

Why should she lose King Shames, man ? 
Och rig in di ! och rig in di ! 

She shall break a' her banes, then ; 
With furichinich, and stay a while, 

And speak a word or twa, man ; 
She 's gie ye a straik out ower the neck, 

Before ye win awa', then. 

Oh, fie for shame, ye 're three for ane ! 

Her-nain-sell' s won the day, man. 
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up, 

Because they ran awa', then. 2 

1 Sir Evan Cameron of Lochiel. 

2 The author appears here to allude to the general conduct of King 
James's army in the crisis of the Revolution. 



THE BRAES OF KILLIECRANKIE. 



43 



Had they bent their bows like Highland trews, 

And made as lang a stay, man, 
They'd saved their king, that sacred thing, 

And Willie 'd run awa', then. 1 

A professor Kennedy (qu. Kerr ?), of Aberdeen, is stated by 
James Hogg to have produced a Latin ballad on the Battle of 
Killiecrankie, being in some degree a paraphrase of this rough 
vernacular song, but including references to heroes of the cavaliei 
party not here adverted to. It begins as follows : 

Gramius notabilis coegerat montanos, 

Qui clypeis et gladiis fugarunt Anglicanos : 

Fugerunt Vallicolse, atque Puritani ; 

Cacavere Batavi et Cameroniani. 2 



THE BRAES OF KILLIECRANKIE. 

There is a second popular ballad on the Battle of Killiecrankie, 
of much more comic expression than the preceding. It has been 
given with its melody in Johnson's Museum, but with some 
improvements from the hand of Burns. 



g =j g_LjUtj £35 



£ 



$ 



When 



hae ye been sae braw, lad? Wh( 



^m 



$=^tE$E£ 



p 



hae ye heen sae bran - kie, ? Where hae ye been 



ve bv Kil - lie - cran-kie, ? An 



J 



braw. lad? Cam 



1 From Herd's Collection, 1776. 

2 Of this clever production Sir Walter Scott, in his turn, wrote a 
versified translation, which was printed in Chambers's Journal, First 
Series, No. 48. 



44 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



I 



i=? 



s^^Pi^P 



S=£ 



* — *- 



ve had been where I hae been, Ye wad-na been 



m 



tz^p^^^^^^S 



can - tie, ; An ye had seen what I hae seen, On th' 



i 



P=£ 



^^^ 



EEgj 



braes o' Kil - lie - crank -ie, 0. 

Where hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Where hae ye been sae brankie, ? 
Where hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
Cam ye by Killiecrankie, ? 

An ye had been where I hae been, 

Ye wadna been sae cantie, ; 
An ye had seen what I hae seen 
On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 

I Ve fanght at land, I 've faught at sea ; 

At hame I faught my anntie, ; 
But I met the deevil and Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, ! 



The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur, 
And Claverse gat a clankie, ; 

Or I had fed an Athole gled, 
On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 



SUCH A PARCEL OF EOGUES IN A NATION ! 

This song embodies pretty fairly the anti-union feeling of 
Scotland, which was essentially a Jacobite feeling, though 
partaken of by many who were not Jacobites, and echoed by 
a vast proportion of the populace, while in reality, for anything 
that has yet appeared, the sober good sense of the country was 
willing to see the long-contemplated junction effected. The 
usual charge of corruption against the majority of the Scottish 
parliament is also here embodied : a charge, however, which, 
it is but fair to say, never has been borne out by clear 
evidence. 



l=B=g 



mgmmm 



s 



rx 



Fare - well to a' our Scot - tish fame, Fare- 



§s§iig^igipap 



is=p 



well our an-cient glo - ry; Fare - well ev'n to the 



P 



iiiiip^piiiSiiii 

Scot - tish name, Sae famed in an - cient sto - ry ! • Now 



Sark rins o'er the Sol - way Sands, and Tweed rins to the 



.i_5_p f_p_ _£_ pz hO ^- B 1 m — I 



o - cean, To mark where England's pro-vince stands: Such a 



^^ra^^^a 



par - eel of rogues in a na - tion! 



46 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Farewell to a' our Scottish fame, 

Farewell our ancient glory ; 
Farewell ev'n to the Scottish name, 

Sae famed in ancient story ! 
Now Sark rins ower the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What force or guile could not subdue, 

Through many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain, 

Secure in valour's station ; 
But English gold has been our bane : 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

I would, ere I had seen the day, 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld gray head had lain in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, to my last hour 

I '11 make this declaration, 
We 're bought and sold for English gold : 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE. 

The Scottish Jacobites affected to consider the line chosen in 
the act of succession as one of very poor account among European 
sovereignties. George, the elector of Hanover, was, in their 
esteem, but a small squire, in comparison with the old race of 
monarchs whom he superseded. A song pouring unsparing 
derision upon him under the name of The JFee, Wee German 



THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE. 



47 



Lairdie, and couched, it must be admitted, in vigorous poetical 
language, appeared in Cromek's Beliques of Nithsdale and 
Galloway Song, 1810, with a note stating that it was one version 
out of several which the editor had heard sung. This was trans- 
ferred, with some verbal alterations, to Hogg's Jacobite Relics, 
with an additional verse at the end, part of which the editor 
said was from an older collection. Cromek — the victim of 
the singular impostures of Allan Cunningham — and James 
Hogg, are but fallacious authorities to rest upon. No matter. 
The song has obtained a deserved popularity, and may be here 
repeated, along with the air supplied by Hogg. 



ts=^=* 



£3=£3 



i 



t/ -0- 



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Wha the deil hae we got -ten for a king, But a 



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wee, wee Ger-man lair - die? And, when we gaed to 



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bring him hame, He was delv - ing in his yar - die 



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Sheughing kail, and lay -ing leeks, But the hose, and 



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but the breeks ; And up his beg - gar duds he cleeks— Thi 



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wee, wee Ger - man lair - die. 



48 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Wlia the deil liae we gotten for a king, 
But a wee, wee German lairdie ? 

And, when we gaed to bring him name, 
He was delving in his yardie : 

Sheughing kail, and laying leeks, 

But l the hose, and but the breeks ; 

And up his beggar duds he cleeks — 
This wee, wee German lairdie. 

And he 's clapt down in our guidman's cka 
The wee, wee German lairdie ; 

And he 's brought fouth o' foreign trash, 
And dibbled them in his yardie. 

He 's pu'd the rose o' English loons, 

And broken the harp o' Irish clowns ; 

But our thistle taps will jag his thumbs — 
This wee, wee German lairdie. 

Come up amang our Highland hills, 

Thou wee, wee German lairdie, 
And see how the Stuarts' lang-kail thrive 

They dibbled in our yardie : 
And if a stock ye dare to pu', 
Or haud the yoking o' a plough, 
We '11 break your sceptre o'er your niou', 
Thou wee bit German lairdie. 

Our hills are steep, our glens are deep, 

Nae fitting for a yardie ; 
And our Norland thistles winna pu', 

Thou wee bit G.erman lairdie : 
And we've the trenching blades o' weir, 
Wad prune ye o' your German gear — 
We '11 pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear. 

Thou feckless German lairdie ! 

1 Without. 



THE PIPER O' DUNDEE. 



49 



Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower cauld a hole 

For nursin' siccan vermin ; 
But the very dogs o' England's court 

They bark and howl in German. 
Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand, 

Thy spade but and thy yardie ; 
For wha the deil now claims your land, 

But a wee, wee German lairdie ? 



THE PIPER 0' DUNDEE. 

Dundee, as the winter haunt of the Forfarshire gentry, was, 
in 1 71 5, as remarkable for its Jacobite prepossessions as it has 
since been for the meritorious industry which in sixty years has 
quadrupled its population. So much may be said in partial 
explanation of an enigmatical song, called The Piper 0' Dundee, 
which seems to hint at a private meeting of the Jacobite party 
in preparation for the rising under the Earl of Marr. It can 
only be added, that if Carnegie of Finhaven was the person 
meant by the piper of Dundee, he proved a roguey indeed, as he 
afterwards deserted his party — not to speak of his proving the 
best runner from the field of Sheriff-muir. 




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The 



pip - er came 



our town, To 



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our town, to 



our town, The pip - er came to 



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our town, And he played bon - ni - he. He 

T) 



50 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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played a spring the laird to please, A spring brent new frae 



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yont the seas ; And then he gae his bags a wheeze, And 



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played a - nith - er key. And was - na he a 



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ro - guey, a ro - guey, a ro - guey, And 



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was - na he a roguey, The pi - per o' Dun - dee. 

The piper came to our town, 
To our town, to our town, 
The piper came to our town, 

And he played bonnilie. 
He played a spring the laird to please, 
A spring brent new frae yont the seas ; 
And then he ga'e his bags a wheeze, 
And played anither key. 
And wasna he a roguey, 

A roguey, a roguey, 
And wasna he a roguey, 
The piper o' Dundee ? 

He played ' The welcome ower the main,' 
And ' Ye 'se be fou and I 'se be fain,' 
And 'Auld Stuarts back again,' 
Wi' muckle mirth and glee. 



CARLE, AN THE KING COME. 



51 



He played ' The Kirk,' he played l The Quier, 
< The Mullin Dhu ' and ' Chevalier,' 
And c Lang awa', but welcome here,' 
Sae sweet, sae bonnilie. 

It 's some gat swords, and some gat nane, 
And some were dancing mad their lane, 
And mony a vow o' weir was taen 

That night at Amnlrie ! 
There was Tullibardine and Burleigh, 
And Struan, Keith, and Ogilvie, 
And brave Carnegie, wha but he, 

The piper o' Dundee ? 



CARLE, AN THE KING COME ! 

This song, in its first form, probably originated in the days of 
the Commonwealth, when the Restoration was a subject of daily 
prayers to the loyalists. Ramsay afterwards introduced a version 
of his own in The Gentle Shepherd, beginning, ' Peggy, now the 
king 's come.' The copy here given is that improved by Burns 
for Johnson's Museum; the second stanza is believed to be 
wholly his. 



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Car - le, an the king come, Carle, an the king come, 



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Thou sh&lt dance and 



I will sing, Car - le an the 



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king come. 



An some - bo - dy were come a - gain, Then 



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some - bo - dy maun cross the main ; And ev' - ry man shall 



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hae his ain, Car - le, an the king come. 

Carle, an the king come, 

Carle, an the king come, 

Thou shalt dance and I will sing, 
Carle, an the king come. 
An somebody were come again, 
Then somebody maun cross the main \ 
And every man shall hae his ain, 

Carle, an the king come. 

I trow we swappit for the worse ; 
We ga'e the boot and better horse ; 
And that we '11 tell them at the corse, 
Carle, an the king come. 

Cogie, an the king come, 
Cogie, an the king come, 
I 'se be fou and thou 'se be toom, 
Cogie, an the king come. 

When George IV. was about to land in Scotland, Sir Walter 
Scott got his old music-master, Alister Campbell, to play over 
the air of Carle, an the King come; and when he had got its 
strain into his head (which Alister told me a few days after 
was no easy matter), lie scribbled a long series of verses antici- 
pating the doings of the royal visit, with the burden of 'Carle, 
now the king's come,' and had it printed on ballad-paper for sale 
in the streets. 



THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN. 



This song, remarkable for its intense bitterness towards the 
Whig party, appears to have been composed at a moment of 
high hope among the friends of the Stuarts, when the principal 
chiefs were understood to be assembling in Braemar, as for a 
Highland hunting, but in reality to arrange for an insurrection 
of the clans. 



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jir~H* 



The 



auld Stu - arts back 



gain ! The 



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fit 



auld 



Stu - arts 



back 



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gam! 



Let 



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let Whigs do what they can, 



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Stu - arts will be back 



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for 



their cree 



shie duds, And 



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Kil - mar - nock's sow - 



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suds ? 



We '11 



54 



P 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

— -»• * £ 



£=? 



wauk their hides, and fyle their fuds, And 



ps 



=* 



T 



bring the Stu - arts back a 



The auld Stuarts back again ! 
The auld Stuarts "back again ! 
Let howlet Whigs do what they can, 

The Stuarts will be back again. 
Wha cares for a' their creeshie duds, 
And a' Kilmarnock's sowen suds ? 
We '11 wauk their hides, and fyle their fuds. 

And bring the Stuarts back again. 

There 's Ayr, and Irvine, wi' the rest, 
And a' the cronies o' the west ; 
Lord ! sic a scaw'd and scabbit nest, 

And they '11 set up their crack again ! 
But wad they come, or daur they come, 
Afore the bagpipe and the drum, 
We '11 either gar them a' sing dumb, 

Or ' Auld Stuarts back again.' 

Give ear unto this loyal sang^ 

A' ye that ken the richt frae wrang, 

And a' that look, and think it lang, 

For auld Stuarts back again : 
Were ye wi' me to chase the rae, 
Out ower the hills and far away, 
And saw the lords come there that day, 

To bring the Stuarts back again : 



THE HIGHLAND MUSTER-ROLL, 1715. 

There ye might see the noble Marr, 
Wi' Athole, Huntly, and Traquair, 
Seaforth, Kilsyth, and Auldublair, 

And mony mae, what reck, again. 
Then what are a' their westlin' crews ? 
We '11 gar the tailors tack again : 
Can they forstand the tartan trews, 

And * Auld Stuarts back again V 



THE HIGHLAND MUSTER-ROLL, 1715. 

The following was probably a contemporary ballad, though it 
did not get into print for nearly a century after. It appeared in 
the sixth volume of Johnson's Museum, published in 1803. The 
bustling, hurrying tide of names, and the mirthful hopefulness 
expressed by the bard, are very amusing. 



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Lit - tie wat ye wha 's coming, Lit - tie wat ye wha's coming. 

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Lit - tie wat ye wha 's coming ; Jock and Tam and a"s coming] 




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Dun - can 's com 



Don - aid 



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Co - lin 's com - ing, Ron - aid 's com - ing, 



56 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Dou - gald 's com - ing, Lauch - lan's 



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Al 



ter and a' 's com - ing ! 



Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming ; 
Jock and Tarn and a' 's coming ! 



Duncan 's coming, Donald 's coming, 
Colin 's coming, Eonald 's coming, 
Dougal 's coming, Lauchlan 's coming, 
Alister and a' 's comino- ! 



Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming ; 
Jock and Tarn and a' 's coming 



A' the Duniewastles coming ! 



Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha's coming ; 
MacGilvray o' Drumglass is coming ! 



THE HIGHLAND MUSTER-ROLL, 1715. 

Winton's coining, Nithsdale's coming, 
Carnwath 's coming, Kenmure 's coming, 
Derwentwater and Foster 's coming, 
Withrington and Nairn 's coming ! 1 

Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming ; 
Blythe Cowhill 2 and a' 's coming ! 

The Laird o' Macintosh is coming, 
Macrabie and Macdonald 's coniiug, 
The Mackenzies and Macphersons coming, 
A' the wild MacCraws coming ! 

Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming ; 
Donald Gun and a' 's coming ! 

They gloom, they glowr, they look sae "big. 
At ilka stroke they '11 fell a Whig ; 
They '11 fright the fuds of the Pockpuds ; 3 
For mony a buttock bare 's coming. 

Little wat ye wha 's coming) 
Little wat ye wha 's coming, 
Little wat ye wha 's coming ; 
Jock and Tarn and a' 's coming ! 



1 Lowland and English partisans. 

2 A gentleman of Dumfriesshire. 

3 The English, from a supposition of their heing great eaters, were 
often called the Pock-pud dinr/s by the abstemious Scotch. 



58 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA\ WILLIE. 



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iPS 



Ken - mure's on and 



wa\ Wil - lie, 



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Ken-mure's on and 



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And Kenmure's lord 's the 



brav - est lord, That ev - er Gal - lo - way saw. Sue- 



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cess to Ken-mure's band, Willie, Sue -cess to Ken -mure' 



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band ; There 's no a heart that fears a Whig, That 



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rides by Ken - mure's hand. 

Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie, 

Kenmure 's on and awa' ! 
And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord, 

That ever Galloway saw. 
Success to Kenmure's band, Willie, 

Success to Kenmure's band : 



That rides by Kenmure's hand. 



KENMURE 'S ON AND AWA', WILLIE. 59 

Here 's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie, 

Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's bluid, 

Nor yet o' Kenmure's line. 
O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie, 

O Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true, 

And that their foes shall ken. 



They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie, 

They '11 live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame ! 
Here's him that's far awa', Willie, 

Here's him that's far awa' ; 
And here 's the flower that I lo'e best, 
The rose that 's like the snaw ! 

We receive this song as Burns sent it to Johnson's Museum : 
most probably, it received at least some touches from his hand. 
In a set printed in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
Song, and since reprinted in several collections, there are three 
additional and very execrable verses, palpably spurious. William 
Gordon, Viscount of Kenmure, rode forth to join the insurgent 
standard in 1715, at the head of two hundred mounted tenants, in 
the highest hopes of success to the Stuart cause. Joining the 
English branch of the rebels, he was taken prisoner at Preston, 
was carried in ignominious circumstances to London, and there 
tried, condemned, and (February 24, 1 716) beheaded. By 
extraordinary efforts on the part of his widow, the estate was 
preserved to the family, and his grandson, John Gordon of 
Kenmure, entertained Burns at the ancient family seat in 1793. 
The title was restored in the person of this gentleman in 1 824, 
but it has since become dormant. 



60 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 

The meeting between the clans under the Earl of Marr, and 
the royal forces under the Duke of Argyle, at Sheriff-muir, near 
Dunblane, on the 13th of November 17 15, with its wavering 
proceedings and uncertain issue, as also the particular behaviour 
of many of the chief persons on both sides, are all cleverly and 
clearly described in the following contemporary song, the writer 
of which appears to have enjoyed the poor conduct of both 
parties with great impartiality. The air to which he composed 
his verses is one styled John Patterson's Mare rides foremost, 
being that of a rough ballad descriptive of the confused horse- 
race which used to take place at all country bridals long ago, 
between the home of the bride's father and that of her husband ; 
of which ballad a specimen follows : 

The black and the brown 
Cam nearest the town, 
But Paterson's mare she came foremost ; 
The dun and the gray- 
Kept farthest away, 
But Paterson's mare she came foremost. 
Fy, whip her in, whip her out, 
Six shillings in a clout, 
O'er the kirk-style and away wi' her ! 

One can discern a deep comic sense in the poet's adoption of such 
a strain for the description of a battle which was to decide the 
fate of dynasties, but only shewed the miserable effects of inferior 
discipline and generalship. 



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There 's some say that we wan, And 



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some say that they wan, And some say that nane wan at 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 



61 



m 



But 



thing I 'ra sure, that 




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at Sher - iff - muir A bat - tie there was, that 



il^^^^ 



saw, man ; 



And we ran, and they ran; and 



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they ran, and we ran ; And we ran, and they ran a - 



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wa', man ; And we ran, and they ran, and 



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thev ran, and we ran ; But Flor - ence ran fast - est of 



is 



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gyle and Bel - ha - ven, not 



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like fright - ed Le - ven, Which Rothes and Had - ding - ton 



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saw, man; 



For they all, with Wight - man, 



ad- 



62 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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vanced on the right, man, While others took flight, be - ing 



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raw, man. 



And 



we ran, and they ran, &c. 



There's some say that we wan, and some say that they wan, 

And some say that nane wan at a', man ; 
But ae thing I'm sure, that at Sheriff-muir 
A battle there was, that' I saw, man ; 

And we ran, and they ran ; and they ran, and we ran ; 
And we ran, and they ran awa', man. 

Brave Argyle and Belhaven, 1 not like frighted Leven, 2 
Which Rothes 3 and Haddington 4 saw, man ; 

For they all, with Wightman, 5 advanced on the right, man, 
While others took flight, being raw, man. 

Lord Roxburgh 6 was there, in order to share 
With Douglas, 7 who stood not in awe, man, 

Volunteerly to ramble with Lord Loudoun Campbell ; 8 
Brave llay 9 did suffer for a', man. 



1234 Lord Belhaven, the Earl of Leven, and the Earls of Kothes and 
Haddington, who all bore arms as volunteers in the royal army. 

5 Major-general Joseph "Wightman, who commanded the centre of the 
royal army. 

6 John, first Duke of Roxburgh, a loyal volunteer. 

7 Archibald, Duke of Douglas, who commanded a body of his vassals in 
the royal army. 

8 Hugh Campbell, third Earl of Loudoun, of the royal army. 

9 The Earl of Hay, brother to the Duke of Argyle. He came up to the 
field only a few hours before the battle, and had the misfortune to be 
wounded. 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 63 

Sir John Shaw, 1 that great knight, with broadsword most bright, 

On horseback he briskly did charge, man ; 
A hero that's bold, none could him withhold, 

He stoutly encountered the targemen. 

For the cowardly Whittam, 2 for fear they should cut him, 
Seeing glittering broadswords with a pa', man, 

And that in such thrang, made Baird aid-du-camp, 
And from the brave clans ran awa', man. 



The great Colonel Dow gaed foremost, I trow, 
When Whittam's dragoons ran awa', man ; 

Except Sandy Baird, and Naughton, the laird, 
Their horse shewed their heels to them a', man. 

Brave Marr and Panmure 3 were firm, I am sure ; 

The latter was kidnapped awa', man ; 
But with brisk men about, brave Harry 4 retook 

His brother, and laughed at them a', man. 

Grave Marshall 5 and Lithgow, 6 and Glengary's 7 pith, too, 

Assisted by brave Logie A'mon', 8 
And Gordons the bright, sae boldly did fight, 

The red-coats took flight and awa', man. 



1 Sir John Shaw of Greenock, an officer in the troop of volunteers, 
noted for his keen Whiggish spirit. 

2 Major-general Whitham, who commanded the left wing of the 
king's army. 

3 James, Earl of Panmure. 

4 The Honourable Harry Maule of Kellie, brother to the foregoing, 
whom he recaptured after the engagement. 

5 6 The Earls of Marischal and Linlithgow. 

7 The chief of Glengary. 

8 Thomas Drummond of Logie Almond. 



64 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Strathmore 1 and Clanronald 2 cried still, 'Advance, Donald !' 

Till both of these heroes did fa', man ; 
For there was sic hashing, and broadswords a-clashing, 

Brave Forfar 3 himsel got a claw, man. 

Lord Perth 4 stood the storm, Seaforth 5 but lukewarm , 

Kilsyth 6 and Strathallan 7 not slaw, man ; 
And Hamilton 8 pled the men were not bred, 

For he had no fancy to fa', man. 

Brave, generous Southesk, 9 Tullibardine 10 was brisk , 
Whose father, indeed, would not draw r man, 

Into the same yoke, which served for a cloak, 
To keep the estate 'twixt them twa,. man. 

Lord Rollo, 11 not feared, Kintore 12 and his beard,. 

Pitsligo 13 and Ogilvie 14 a', man, 
And brothers Balfours, they stood the first stours ; 

Clackmannan 15 and Burleigh 16 did claw, man. 

1 The Earl of Strathmore, killed in the battle. 

2 The chief of Clanranald. 

3 The Earl of Forfar — on the king's side — wounded in the engagement. 

4 James, Lord Drummond, eldest son of the Earl of Perth, was lieu- 
tenant-general of horse under Marr, and behaved with great gallantry. 

5 "William Mackenzie, fifth Earl of Seaforth. 

6 The Viscount KLilsyth. 7 The Viscount Strathallan. 

8 Lieutenant-general George Hamilton, commanding under the Earl of 
Marr. 

9 James, fifth Earl of Southesk. 

10 The Marquis of Tullibardine, eldest son of the Duke of Athole. 

11 Lord Rollo. 12 The Earl of Kintore. 
13 Lord Pitsligo. 14 Lord Ogilvie, son of the Earl of Airly. 

15 Bruce, Laird of Clackmannan — the husband, I believe, of the old lady 
who knighted Robert Burns with the sword of Bruce, at Clackmannan 
Tower. 

16 Lord Burleigh. He was an excitable person — almost a madman — 
and at this time a condemned criminal, having murdered a schoolmaster 
for marrying a country girl he was in love with. 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 65 

But Cleppan * acted pretty, and Strowan, 2 the witty, 

A poet that pleases us a', man ; 
For mine is but rhyme, in respect of what's fine, 

Or what he is able to draw, man. 

For Huntly 3 and Sinclair, 4 they baith played the tinkler, 

With consciences black like a craw, man ; 
Some Angus and File men, they ran for their life, man, 

And ne'er a Lot's wife there at a', man ! 

Then Lawrie, the traitor, who betrayed his master, 

His king, and his country, and a', man, 
Pretending Marr might give order to fight 

To the right of the army awa', man ; 

Then Lawrie, for fear of what he might hear, 
Took Drummond's best horse, and awa', man ; 

'Stead of going to Perth, he crossed the Forth, 
Alongst Stirling Bridge, and awa', man. 

To London he pressed, and there he addressed, 

That he behaved best o' them a', man ; 
And there, without strife, got settled for life, 

A hundred a year to his fa', man. 

In Borrowstounness, he rides with disgrace, 

Till his neck stand in need of a draw, man ; 
And then in a tether, he '11 swing from a ladder, 

And go off the stage with a pa', man. 5 

1 Major William Clephane. 

2 Alexander Robertson of Struan, chief of the Robertsons. 

3 Alexander, Marquis of Huntly, afterwards Duke of Gordon. 

4 The Master of Sinclair. 

5 These four stanzas seem to refer to a circumstance reported at the 
time ; namely, that a person had left the Duke of Argyle's army, and 
joined the Earl of Marr's, before the battle, intending to act as a spy; and 
that, being employed by Marr to inform the left wing that the right was 
victorious, he gave a contrary statement, and, after seeing them retire 
accordingly, went back again to the royal army. 



66 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Rob Roy * stood watch on a hill, for to catch 

The booty, for ought that I saw, man ; 
For he ne'er advanced from the place he was stanced, 

Till no more to do there at a', man. 

So we all took the flight, and Mowbray the wright, 

But Lethem, the smith, was a braw man, 
For he took the gout, which truly was wit, 

By judging it time to withdraw, man. 

And trumpet M'Lean, whose breeks were not clean, 
Through misfortune he happened to fa', man ; 

By saving his neck, his trumpet did break, 
Came aff without music at a', man. 

So there such a race was, as ne'er in that place was, 

And as little chase was at a', man ; 
From other they ran, without touk of drum, 

They did not make use of a pa', man. 

Whether we ran, or they ran, or we wan, or they wan, 

Or if there was winning at a', man, 
There's no man can tell, save our brave generall, 

Wha first began running awa', man, 

Wi' the Earl o' Seaforth, and the Cock o' the North ; 2 

But Florence ran fastest ava, man, 
Save the Laird o' Finhaven, 3 who swore to be even 
Wi' any general or peer o' them a', man. 

And we ran, and they ran ; and they ran, and we ran ; 
And we ran, and they ran awa', man. 4 

1 The celebrated Rob Roy. This redoubted hero was prevented, by 
mixed motives, from joining either party : he could not fight against the 
Earl of Marr, consistently with his conscience, nor could he oppose the 
Duke of Argyle, without forfeiting the protection of a powerful friend. 

2 An honorary popidar title of the Duke of Gordon. 

3 Carnegie of Finhaven. 

4 From Herd's Collection, 1 776, except the sixth and the two last 
verses, which are added from the Jacobite Relics, although they contain 
a contradiction regarding the conduct of the Earl of Marr. 



UP AND WAUR THEM A', WILLIE. 

This is one of the contemporary popular songs on the Battle 
of Sheriff-muir : in style of composition, it bears a marked 
resemblance to The Battle of Killiecrarikie. The earliest 
collection in which it appears is Herd's. The air possesses a 
liveliness that has made it a great favourite in Scotland. When 
William, Duke of Cumberland, came to Edinburgh to put him- 
self at the head of the government troops for the suppression of 
the rebellion (January 1746), the music bells of St Giles's Kirk 
played Up and Want them a\ Willie. 



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68 



i 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

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Lairds and lords 



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vow gin they were hraw, Wil - lie! 

When we went to the "braes o' Marr, 

And to the weaponshaw, Willie, 
With true design to stand our ground, 

And chase our faes awa', Willie, 
Lairds and lords cam there bedeen, 
And vow gin they were hraw, Willie ! 
Up and waur them a', Willie ! 
Up and waur them a', Willie ! 

But when our standard was set up, 
Sae fierce the wind did blaw, Willie 

The royal nit upon the tap 

Down to the ground did fa', Willie. 



UP AND WAUR THEM A', WILLIE. 

Then second-sichted Sandy said, 
We 'd do nae guid at a', Willie. 1 
Up and waur, &c. 

But wlien the army joined at Perth, 
The bravest e'er ye saw, Willie, 

We didna doubt the rogues to rout, 
Restore our king and a', Willie ; 

Pipers played frae richt to left, 
' Fy, furich, Whigs, awa' ! ' Willie. 
Up and waur, &c. 

But when we marched to Sherra-muir, 
And there the rebels saw, Willie, 

Brave Argyle attacked our right, 
Our flank and front and a', Willie. 

Traitor Huntly soon gave way, 
Seaforth, St Clair, and a', Willie. 
Up and waur, &c. 

But brave Glengary, on our right, 
The rebels' left did claw, Willie. 

He there the greatest slaughter made 
That ever Donald saw, Willie. 

And Whittam turned about for fear, 
And fast did rin awa', Willie. 
Up and waur, &c. 

He had ca'd us a Highland mob, 
Said he wad slay us a', Willie ; 

But we chased him back to Stirling brig, 
Dragoons, and foot, and a', Willie ! 

At length we rallied on a hill, 
And briskly up did draw, Willie. 
Up and waur, &c. 

1 A historical fact. 



70 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



But when Argyle did view our line, 

And them in order saw, Willie, 
He straught gaed to Dunblane again, 

And back his left did draw, Willie ; 
And we to Auchterarder gaed, 

To wait a better fa', Willie. 
Up and waur, &c. 

Now if ye spier wha wan the day, 

I 've telled ye what I saw, Willie ; 
We baith did fight, and baith did beat, 

And baith did rin awa', Willie. 

So there 's my canty Highland sang 

About the thing I saw, Willie. 

Up and waur them a', Willie, 
Up and waur them a', Willie. 

It will be readily observed that the air of There 's nae Luck 
about the House is merely a slightly modified version of Up and 
Waur them a\ Willie. 



THE CAMPBELLS AEE COMING. 




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The Campbells are com - in', - ho, - ho, The 



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Campbells are com - in' to bon - nie Loch - le - ven, The 



THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING. 



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saw three perch - es 



play, play. 



The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho, 

The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho, 

The Campbells are comin' to bormie Lochleven, 

The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho ! 

Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay, 
Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay, 
I lookit down to bonnie Lochleven, 
And saw three perches play, play. 



Great Argyle he goes before, 
He maks his cannons and guns to roar 
Wi' sound o' trumpet, fife, and drum, 
The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho ! 



72 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



The Campbells they are a' in arms, 
Their loyal faith and truth to shew, 
Wi' banners rattlin' in the wind, 
The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho ! 

The tune has in this case preserved a rather foolish and not 
very intelligible song : it has long been considered' as the 
CamyibdW March. Most probably the verses took their rise in 
some of the movements connected with the insurrection of 
1715- 



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AW A', WHIGS, AWA\ 73 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 
Ye 're but a pack o' traitor loons, 
Ye '11 do nae guid at a' ! 

Our thristles nourished fresh and fair, 

And bonnie bloomed our roses ; 
But Whigs came like a frost in June, 

And withered a' our posies ! 

Our sad decay in kirk and state 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 

And we have done wi' thriving. 

[Our ancient crown 's fa'n i' the dust, 
Deil blind them wi' the stour o't ! 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha ga'e the Whigs the power o't ! 

Grim Vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 

But we may see him wauken : 
Gude help the day, when royal heads 

Are hunted like a maukin !] 

The ail' here given to this lively effusion is one to which the 
editor has been accustomed to hear it sung in the house of a 
Perthshire Jacobite family, and which has been included by 
George Thomson in his collection, with a slight alteration. In 
Johnson's Museum, the song is set to a tune wholly different, 
and very much less suitable, which Mr Stenhouse believed 
to be of considerable age, there being an old copy of it in 
his possession, under the title of Oh, Silly Soul, Alace ! He 
also deemed it the progenitor of the popular tune called Wliat 
Ails this Heart o' Mine ? and of My Dearie, an Thou Die. 

The two verses here given within brackets, were added by 
Burns. 



74 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



TO DAUNTON ME. 



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To daun - ton me, to daun - ton me, Ken 



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ye the things that would daun - ton me? 



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years sin' syne, With cess, and press, and Pres - by - trie, Guid 



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faith these had like to hae daun - toned me ! 



To daunton me, to daunton me, 

Ken ye the things that would daunton me ? x 

O eighty-eight and eighty-nine, 

And a' the dreary years sin' syne, 

With cess, and press, and Presbytrie, 

Guid faith these had like to hae dauntoned me ! 



1 In playing the tune, and in the singing of some of the other songs 
idapted to it, it is necessary to repeat the first part. 



TO DAUNTON ME. 75 

But to wanton me, to wanton me, 

Do you ken the things that would wanton me 1 

To see guid corn upon the rigs, 

And a gallows hie to hang the Whigs, 

And the right restored where the right should be, 

these are the things that would wanton me ! 

To wanton me, to wanton me, 

Ken you what maist would wanton me % 

To see King James at Edinburgh cross, 

Wi' fifty thousand foot and horse, 

And the usurper forced to flee, 

O this is what maist would wanton me. 

These verses, according to Mr Stenhouse, appear in A Collec- 
tion of Loyal Songs, Poems, &c, printed in 1750. Three other 
Jacobite songs to the same tune appear in Mr Hogg's Collection. 
Burns also composed a song in which a young woman, wooed 
by an old man, sings : 

The bluid-red rose at Yule may Maw, 

The summer lilies bloom in snaw, 

The frost may freeze the deepest sea, 

But an auld man shall never daunton me. &c. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 

There was an old nursery-song in Scotland, of which the 
following copy has been preserved by Mr Stenhouse : 

O this is no my ain house, 
My ain house, my ain house, 
O this is no my ain house, 

I ken by the riggin' o't. 
For bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
Are my door-cheeks, are my door-cheeks, 
For bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 

And pancakes the riggin' o't. 



70 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



O this is no my ain wean, 
My ain wean, my ain wean, 

this is no my ain wean, 
I ken by the greetie 1 o't. 

1 '11 tak the curchie aff my head, 
Aff my head, aff my head, 

I '11 tak the curchie aff my head, 
And row 't about the feetie o't. 

When the Scottish Jacobite contemplated the changed condi- 
tion of his country under a parliament-appointed dynasty, he 
recalled the refrain of this grandam's ditty, and metaphorising 
the state as his house, broke out in a political song, representing 
the whole of its architectural features as changed for the worse, 
and above all the daddy — the auld guidman — driven out of his 
chair in the hall, to give place to a foreign intruder. 



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cam wi' lack o' grace, Wi' 



Style of weeping. 



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THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 



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dow - na bide the trig - gin' o't. 

this is no iny ain house, 

1 ken "by the biggin' o't, 

For bow-kail thrave at my door-cheek, 
And thristles on the riggin' o't. 

A carle cam wi' lack o' grace, 
Wi' unco gear and unco face, 
And sin' he claimed my daddy's place, 
I downa bide the triggin' o't. 

Wi' rowth o' kin and rowth o' reek, 
My daddy's door it wadna steek, 
But bread and cheese were his door-cheek, 
And girdle-cakes the riggin' o't. 

My daddy bag his housie weel, 
By dint o' bead and dint o' heel, 
By dint o' arm and dint o' steel, 
And muckle weary priggin' o't. 

Then, was it dink or was it douce, 
For ony cringin' foreign goose, 
To claucht my daddy's wee bit house, 
And spoil the hamely triggin' o't ? 



78 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Say, was it foul or was it fair, 
To come a hunder miles and mair, 
For to ding out my daddy's heir, 1 

And dash him wi' the whiggin' o't % 

Ramsay and Burns were also impelled, "by the charm of the 
melody, to compose sentimental songs to it ; but regarding these 
there is no occasion at present to speak. 

An earlier and simpler, but much inferior set of the air, is given 
by Mr Stenhouse from ' Mrs Crockat's Book, written in 1 709.' 
In Johnson's Museum, the song is presented in connection with 
an air entirely different, which is commonly recognised under 
the name of JDeil Stick the Minister, being the proper melody of a 
song so called, too primitive in its style of ideas for modern 
society. The old hard laird of Dumbiedykes, it will be recol- 
lected (Heart of Midlothian, chap, viii.), 'soughed awa in an 
attempt to sing Deil Stick the Minister' As this classic circum- 
stance may have given the reader an interest in the subject, 
the melody is here repeated, with the first verses of TJiis is no 
my ain House, set to it. 



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thris-tles on the rig - gin' o't. 



Variation- 



To ding my daddie frae his chair. 



HERE 'S TO THE KING, SIR. 



70 



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sin' he claimed my dad - dy's place, I dow 



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HERE'S TO THE KING, SIR. 

Burns entertained a great admiration for a simple old air 
which, passed by the name of Tuttie Taittie, but which, up to 
his time, had never been printed. He said in a letter to Mr 
George Thomson : ' I am delighted with many little melodies 
which the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do 
not know whether the old air, Hey Tuttie Taittie, may rank 
among this number ; but well I know that with Fraser's haut- 
boy it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition 
which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that it was 
Robert Bruce's march at the Battle of Bannockburn.' The 
patriotic enthusiasm of Burns led him afterwards to compose 
his noble ode, entitled Bruce's Address to his Troops at Bannock- 
burn, to this tune ; which necessarily has given it a high 
celebrity and importance in our codex of national music. 

There is, of course, little importance to be attached to such 
a tradition as that mentioned by Burns. It may, indeed, be 
questioned if there be a possibility of transmitting such a fact 
for five hundred years by tradition. All that we know with any 
certainty of the history of Tuttie Taittie is, that it was the 
spirited air of a certain Jacobite song, which, from a historical 



80 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



allusion in one of its verses, may be presumed to have been 
composed about the year 171 8. 



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Here 's to the king, sir, Ye ken wha I mean, sir, 




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And to ev' - ry hon - est man, That will do 't 

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gain 



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Fill, fill your bum - pers high, Drain, drain your glass 



dry, 



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Out up - on him, fye ! oh, fye ! That win - na do 't a - gain ! 

Here 's to the king, sir, 
Ye ken wha I mean, sir, 
And to every honest man, 
That will do 't again ! 

Fill, fill your bumpers high, 

Drain, drain your glasses dry, 

Out upon him, fye ! oh, fye ! 

That winna do 't again ! 

Here 's to the chieftains 
Of the Scots Highland clans ! 
They hae done it mair than anes, 
And will do 't again. 

When you hear the trumpet sound 
Tuttie taittie to the drum, 
Up your swords, and down your guns, 
And to the rogues a^ain ! 



THE BLACK BIRD. 81 

Here 's to the king of Swede, 

Fresh laurels crown his head ! 

Fye on every sneaking blade, 

That winna do 't again ! 

But to mak things right now, 
He that drinks maun fight too, 
To shew his heart 's upright too, 
And that he '11 do 't again ! 

Sometimes the following verse was added : 

Weel may we a' be, 
111 may we never see, 
Here 's to the king 

And the guid companie ! 

The song conveys with energy that amounts to poetry the 
first reviving feelings of hope in the Jacobite party after the 
defeat they experienced in 17 15 — 1716. It was about 17 18 
that Charles XII. of Sweden conceived the project of making 
an inroad upon England in connection with the adherents of 
the House of Stuart. 



THE BLACK BIRD. 



is a favourable example of the allegorical poetry under which 
the Jacobites used to veil their treasonable sentiments. The 
allegory in this case is curious enough. The Black Bird was 
one of the nicknames of the Chevalier de St George, being 
suggested by his complexion, which was so excessively dark as 
to form a striking contrast with the light fair countenance of 
his unfortunate son Charles. Ramsay, though said to have been 
a Jacobite, was so extremely cautious, that his admission' of such 
a song into his collection is somewhat surprising ; for, though 
its ostensible meaning be the most innocent in the world, the 



82 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



allegory is by no means so well managed as to conceal altogether 
the real meaning, while the decussation of the word blackbird 
into two words almost entirely neutralises it. It would appear 
that the black complexion of the personage in question was a 
matter of notoriety, and was much harped upon by his party ; 
as in a ring, now in the possession of a Jacobite family in Forfar- 
shire, there is a small parcel of his raven locks, with this 
nattering proverbial inscription : ' The black man 's the brauest.' 



a p % jj4 =^ ^j — J -j-j- j J J jl j J I 



Up - on a fair morn - ing, for soft re - ere 



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rie ; Yet if death should blind me, as true love in 



THE BLACK BIRD. 



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ev - er he 



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black bird I '11 seek out where 



Upon a fair morning, for soft recreation, 

I heard a fair lady was making her moan, 
With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation, 

Aye saying, My black bird most royal is flown. 
My thoughts they deceive me, reflections do grieve me, 

And I am o'erburden'd wi' sad miserie ; 
Yet if death should blind me, as true love inclines me, 

My black bird I '11 seek out wherever he be. 

Once into fair England my black bird did flourish ; 

He was the flower that in it did spring ; 
Prime ladies of honour his person did nourish, 

Because he was the true son of a king : 
But since that false fortune, which still is uncertain, 

Has caused this parting between him and me, 
His name I '11 advance in Spain and in France, 

And seek out my black bird wherever he be. 



The birds of the forest are all met together ; 

The turtle has chosen to dwell with the dove ; 
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather, 

Once in the spring to seek out my love. 
He 's all my heart's treasure, my joy and my pleasure ; 

And justly, my love, my heart follows thee, 
Who art constant and kind, and courageous of mind ; — 

All bliss on my black bird, wherever he be ! 



84 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



In England my black bird and I were together, 

Where lie was still noble and generous of heart. 
Ah ! woe to the time that first he went thither ! 

Alas ! he was forced from thence to depart ! 
In Scotland he 's deem'd, and highly esteem'd ; 

In England he seemeth a stranger to be ; 
Yet his fame shall remain in France and in Spain ; — 

All bliss to my black bird, wherever he be ! 

What if the fowler my black bird has taken ! 

Then sighing and sobbing will be all my tune ; 
But if he is safe I '11 not be forsaken, 

And hope yet to see him in May or in June. 
For him, through the fire, through mud and through mire, 

I '11 go ; for I love him to such a degree, 
Who is constant and kind, and noble of mind, 

Deserving all blessings, wherever he be ! 

It is not the ocean can fright me with danger, 

Nor that like a pilgrim I wander forlorn ; 
I may meet with friendship from one is a stranger, 

More than of one that in Britain is born. 
I pray Heaven, so spacious, to Britain be gracious, 

Though some there be odious to both Mm and me. 
Yet joy and renown, and laurels shall crown 

My black bird with honour, wherever he be. 



THE WHITE COCKADE. 



qf fea^ B^ 



B 



H^pB^^^SiN 



My love was born in A- ber-deen, The bonniest lad that 



e'er was seen. But now he maks 



my 



heart full sad, He's 



THE WHITE COCKADE. 



85 



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ta'en the field wi' his white cockade. he's a rantin' 



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blade, he 's a brisk and bonnie lad, 



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tide what may, my heart is glad To see my lad wi' his 



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white cockade ! 

My love was born in Aberdeen, 
The bonniest lad that e'er was seen, 
But now he maks my heart full sad, 
He 's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade. 
O he's a rantin' rovin' blade, 
O he 's a brisk and bonnie lad, 
Betide what may, my heart is glad 
To see my lad wi' his white cockade ! L 

I '11 sell my rock, I '11 sell my reel, 

My rippling-kaim and spinning-wheel, 

To buy my lad a tartan plaid, 

A braid sword, durk, and a white cockade. 

Variation in Herd's Collection : 

' Betide what will, I '11 get me ready, 
And follow the lad wi' the tartan plaidie.' 



so 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

I '11 sell my rokelay and my tow, 

My guid gray mare and hackit cow, 

That every loyal Buck an lad, 

May tak' the field wi' his white cockade. 1 



JOHNIE COPE. 



The sad mismanagement of Sir John Cope, as commander of 
the little government army at first opposed to Prince Charles 
Stuart, September 1745, formed a subject of triumphant scorn 
to the Jacobites, and indeed of general derision. The feeling 
of the hour was embodied in a rustic song to a tune called 
Fy to the Hills in the Morning, which was at once taken up 
as a general favourite, and has ever since so remained, as it 
probably will for a long time to come. 



i 



fe 



fe^ 



^ 



Cope sent a 



let 



ter frae Dun - bar : — 0, 



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Charlie, meet me an ye daur, And I '11 learn you the 



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art 0' war, If you'll meet me in the morn-ing. Hey, 



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Johnie Cope, are ye wauking yet ? Or are your drums a- 



1 A version of this song, slightly different from the above, appears in 
Herd's Collection. We have here mainly followed Hogg. 



JOHNIE COPE. 



87 



m^m 



-M 



mt^mm 



beat - ing 



ret? If 



were wauk 




wad wait To go to the coals i' the morning. 



Cope sent a letter frae Dunbar : — 
O, Charlie, meet Die an ye daur, 
And I'll learn you the art o' war, 
If you'll meet me in the morning. 

Hey, Johnie Cope, are ye wauking yet ? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet 1 
If ye were wauking, I wad wait 
To go to the coals i' the morning. 1 

When Charlie look'd the letter upon, 
He drew his sword the scabbard from : 
Come follow me, my merry merry men, 
And we '11 meet Cope in the morning. 

Now, Johnie, be as good's your word : 
Come let us try both fire and sword ; 
And dinna rin away like a frighted bird, 
That 's chased frae its nest in the morning. 2 



1 The battle-ground lies in the midst of a coal-field from which 
Edinburgh had for centuries been supplied with most of the fuel it 
required. 

2 It is curious to find in this droll Scotch song an image which had 
been previously used by Euripides, in the mouth of Polyxena when called 
from the tent by the voice of her mother Hecuba : 



3-a.u.pu 






I come * * * * 

Like a poor bird affrighted from its nest. 



8S SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

When Johnie Cope he heard of this, 
He thought it wadna be amiss, 
To hae a horse in readiness 
To flee awa' in the morning. 

Fy now, Johnie, get up and rin, 
The Highland bagpipes mak a din ; 
It is best to sleep in a hale skin, 
For 'twill be a bluidy morning. 

When Johnie Cope to Berwick came, 
They speer'd at him, Where's a' your men '$ 
The deil confound me gin I ken, 
For I left them a' i' the morning. 

Now, Johnie, troth ye are na blate 
To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, 
And leave your men in sic a strait 
Sae early in the morning. 

Oh ! faith, quo' Johnie, I got a fleg 
Wi' their claymores and philabegs ; 
If I face them again, deil break my legs — 
So I wish you a guid-morning. 1 



TRANENT MUIR. 



Another clever rustic song was composed on the Battle of 
Preston, to the tune of KilliecranJcie, and circulated at the 
time on a broadside. A certain rough force, both in the 
description and the wit, has insured its preservation. Its author 

1 Poor Sir John Cope was, perhaps, rather severely judged regarding 
his Scotch command in 1745. At least we must admit that he was 
unfortunate in having so many raw dragoons to handle at Preston, It 
is said that his face brightened in London a few months afterwards, when 
a second general (Hawley) gave way before the Highland army. Sir 
John died Knight of the Bath, Colonel of the 7th Dragoons, and a 
Lieutenant-general, 28th July 1 760. 



TRANENT MUIR. 89 

was a farmer who dwelt near the field of battle, and had the 
misfortune, as he tells us, to be robbed after it by one of the 
victors. He was Adam Skirving, of the farm of Garleton, 
between Haddington and Gosford, who died in 1803, at the 
age of eighty-four, and is buried in the parish fold of 
Athelstaneford, where the poets Blair and Home were suc- 
cessively ministers. He was noted as a man of sharp and 
ready wit, but not much addicted to verse-making ; a great 
lover of the sports of curling and golfing ; upright in his 
dealings, a foe to all shams and impostures ; generally a 
favourite. His eldest son Archibald acquired celebrity as a 
portrait-painter in crayons, and was personally for many a 
day notable in Edinburgh for a few innocent eccentricities. 



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The Che - va - Her, being void of fear, Did march up Bir - slie 



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through Tranent, 


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taunt and mock, Wi' mo - m 



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ere next mora proclaim'd the cock, We heard a - nith - er 



craw, man. 



90 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

The Chevalier, being void of fear, 

Did march up Birslie brae, man, 
And through Tranent, ere he did stent, 

As fast as he could gae, man ; 
While General Cope did taunt and mock, 

Wi' mony a loud huzza, man ; 
But ere next morn proclaim'd the cock, 

"We heard anither craw, man. 

The brave Lochiel, as I heard tell, 

Led Camerons on in cluds, man ; 
The morning fair, and clear the air, 

They lowsed with devilish thuds, man : 
Down guns they threw, and swords they drew, 

And soon did chase them aff, man ; 
On Seaton Crafts they bufft their chafts, 

And gart them rin like daft, man. 

The bluif dragoons swore, Blood and 'oons, 

They 'd make the rebels run, man ; 
And yet they flee when them they see, 

And winna fire a gun, man. 
They turned their back, their foot they brak, 

Such terror seized them a', man, 
Some wet their cheeks, some fyled their breeks, 

And some for fear did fa', man. 

The volunteers pricked up their ears, 

And wow gin they were croose, man ; 
But when the bairns saw't turn to earn'st, 

They were not worth a louse, man : 
Maist feck gaed hame — 0, fy for shame ! 

They 'd better stay'd awa', man, 
Than wi' cockade to make parade, 

And do nae good at a', man. 



TRANENT MUIR. 91 

Menteith the great, where Hersell sate, 

Un' wares d'd ding her ower, man ; 
Yet wadna stand to bear a hand, 

But aff fou fast did scour, man : 
Ower Soutra Hill, ere he stood still, 

Before he tasted meat, man : 
Troth, he may brag of his swift nag, 

That hare him aff sae fleet, man. 

' And Simson keen, to clear the een 

Of rebels far in wrang, man, 
Did never strive wi' pistols five, . 

But gallop'd wi' the thrang, man : 
He turn'd his back, and in a crack 

"Was cleanly out of sight, man ; 
And thought it best ; it was nae jest- 

Wi' Highlanders to fight, man. 

'Mangst a' the gang, nane bade the bang 

But twa, and ane was tane, man ; 
For Campbell rade, but Myrie staid, 

And sair he paid the kain, man : 
Fell skelps he got, was waur than shot, 

Frae the sharp-edged, claymore, man ; 
Frae many a spout came running out 

His reeking-het red gore, man. 

But Gard'ner brave did still behave 

Like to a hero bright, man ; 
His courage true, like him were few, 

That still despised flight, man : 
For king and laws, and country's cause, 

In honour's bed he lay, man ; 
His life, but not his courage, fled, 

While he had breath to draw, man. 



92 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

And Major Bowie, that worthy soul, 

Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
His horse being shot, it was his lot 

For to get mony a wound, man. 
Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he call'd for aid, man, 
Being full of dread, lap ower his head, 

And wadna be gainsaid, man. 

He made sic haste, sae spurr'd his beast, 

"Twas little there he saw, man ; 
To Berwick rade, and safely said, 

The Scots were rebels a', man. 
But let that end, for weel 'tis kend 

His use and wont to lie, man ; 
The Teague is naught, he never fought, 

When he had room to flee, man. 1 

And Cadell drest, amang the rest, 

With gun and good claymore, man, 
On gelding gray, he rode that way, 

With pistols set before, man : 
The cause was good, he'd spend his blood, 

Before that he would yield, man ; 
But the night before, he left the cor', 

And never took the field, man. 



1 ' It is reported that, after the publication of the ballad, [Lieutenant 
Smithl sent Mr Skirving a challenge to meet him at Haddington, and 
answer for his conduct in treating him with such opprobrium. " Gang 
awa' back," said Mr Skirving to the messenger, "and tell Mr Smith I have 
nae leisure to gae to Haddington ; but if he likes to come here, I '11 tak a 
look o' him, and if I think I can fecht him, I '11 fecht him ; and if no— 
I'll just do as he did at Preston — I'll rin awa'.'" — Stenhouse's Notes 
to Johnson. 



TRANENT MUIR. 93 

But gallant Roger, like a soger, 

Stood and bravely fought, man ; 
I'm wae to tell, at last lie fell, 

But mae down wi' him brought, man : 
At point of death, wi' his last breath 

(Some standing round in ring, man), 
On's back lying flat, he waved his hat, 

And cry'd, God save the king, man. 

Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs, 

Neglecting to pursue, man, 
About they faced, and in great haste 

Upon the booty flew, man ; 
And they, as gain for all their pain, 
. Are deck'd wi' spoils of war, man ; 
Fu' bauld can tell how her nainsell 

Was ne'er sae pra pefore, man. 

At the thorn-tree, which you may see 

Bewest the Meadow-mill, man, 
There mony slain lay on the plain, 

The clans pursuing still, man. 
Sic unco hacks, and deadly whacks, 

I never saw the like, man ; 
Lost hands and heads cost them their deads> 

That fell near Preston-dyke, man. 

That afternoon, when a' was done, 

I gaed to see the fray, man ; 
But had I wist what after past, 

I 'd better staid away, man : 
In Seaton Sands, wi' nimble hands, 

They pick'd my pockets bare, man ; 
But I wish ne'er to drie sic fear, 

For a' the sum and mair, man. 



94 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. 



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And Char - lie is my dar - ling, My dar - ling, my 



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Young Che - va - Her. 'Twas on a Mon - day morning, Right 



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ear - ly in the year, That Char - lie cam to 



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dar - ling, My dar - ling, my dar - ling, And 



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Char - He 



my dar - ling, The Young Che - va - Her. 



CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. 95 

'Twas on a Monday morning, 

Right early in the year, 
That Charlie cam to our town, 
The Young Chevalier. 

And Charlie is my darling, 
My darling, my darling, 
And Charlie is my darling, 
The Young Chevalier. 

As he cam walking up the street, 

The pipes played loud and clear ; 
And young and auld cam out to greet 

The Young Chevalier. 



up yon heathery mountain, 

And down yon scroggy glen, 
We daurna gang a-milking, 

For Charlie and his men. 

This song, in a somewhat different version, was first published 
in Johnson's Musetim, and it is probably of not much older date. 



LEWIE GORDON. 



One of the most favourite songs of the Jacobites in the latter 
days of the party, was Lewie Gordon, referring primarily to 
that noted partisan of the cause, but mainly a longing reminis- 
cence of the prince himself, as he had appeared in Highland 
guise throughout his romantic expedition. Lord Lewis, a 
younger son of the second Duke of Gordon, raised two battalions 
for the prince, and gained some reputation by routing a large 
party of loyal volunteers under Macleod of Macleod at Inverury, 
December 23, 1745. After Culloden, he escaped to France, 



96 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

whence lie was not destined ever to return ' hame,' as lie died 
at Montr euil in 1754. 

Lewie Gordon is a variety of the south-country air of 
Tarry TVoo, which will reappear in a subsequent part of this 
collection. It is vaguely stated by James Hogg that this song 




Lord Lewis Gordon. 



was a composition of the eccentric Alexander Geddes, who 
originally was the Catholic priest at Shenval, in the Enzie, 
Banffshire. 



LEWIE GORDON. 



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send Lew-ie Gor-don hame, And the lad I daur-na name; 



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Tho' his back be at the \va', Here 's to him that 's far a-wa\ 
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Och-on, my Highlandman ! my bon-nie Highlandman! 



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ken, 



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mang ten thou - sand High - land - men. 

send Lewie Gordon hame. 
And the lad I daurna name ; 
Though his back be at the wa', 
Here 's to him that 's far awa'. 

Ochon, my Highlandman ! 

my bonnie Highlandman ! 

Weel would I my true love ken, 

Amang ten thousand Highlandmen. 



! to see his tartan trews, 
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes, 
Philabeg aboon his knee ! 
That 's the lad that I '11 gang wi\ 



98 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Tliis lovely youth of whom I sing, 
Is fitted for to be a king ; 
On his breast he wears a star : 
You 'd tak him for the god of war. 

! to see this princely one 
Seated on a royal throne ! 
Disasters a' would disappear ; 
Then begins the jub'lee year. 



YOU'RE WELCOME, CHARLIE STUART. 

Under the general feeling of irritation left in Scotland by 
the behaviour of the victorious army of Cumberland, a warm 
welcome was given, beyond Jacobite circles, to a song which 
then came into circulation, being set to a tune called Miss 
Stewart's Reel. 



You 're wel - come, Char - lie Stu - art, You 're welcome, Char - lie 



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thou art ! Had I the pow'r as I 've the will, I 'd 



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make thee fam - ous by my quill, Thy foes I 'd scat - ter, 



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take, and kill, Frae Billingsgate to Du - art. 



YOU 'RE WELCOME, CHARLIE STUART. 9i) 

You 're welcome, Charlie Stuart, 
You 're welcome, Charlie Stuart, 
You 're welcome, Charlie Stuart, 
There 's none so right as thou art ! 

Had I the power as I 've the will, 
I 'd make thee famous by my quill, 
Thy foes I 'd scatter, take, and kill, 
Frae Billingsgate to Duari. 

Thy sympathising complaisance, 
Made thee believe intriguing France ; 
But woe is me for thy mischance, 
Which saddens every true heart. 

Had'st thou Culloden battle won, 
Poor Scotland had not been undone, 
Nor butchered been with sword and gun 
By Lockhart and such cowards. 

Kind Providence, to thee a friend, 
A lovely maid did timely send, 
To save thee from a fearful end, 
Thou charming Charlie Stuart ! 

Great glorious prince, we firmly pray, 
That she and we may see the day, 
When Britons all with joy shall say, 
You 're welcome, Charlie Stuart. 

Though Cumberland, the tyrant proud, 
Doth thirst and hunger after blood, 
Just Heaven will preserve the good, 
To fight for Charlie Stuart. 1 

Upon the anniversary of the Battle of Culloden in 1749, 
some military officers attending the theatre in the Canongate, 

1 There are three verses more, of inferior merit. 



100 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Edinburgh, called to the musicians for the tune of Culloden; 
whereupon the audience, in resentment, demanded You're 
Welcome, Charlie Stuart, and had their request complied with. 
A riot, ending in the complete humiliation of the officers, was 
the consequence. 



LADY KEITH'S LAMENT. 

The following song appears in Hogg's Collection, without any 
indication of its origin. Its very beauty as a pathetic effusion 
provokes a suspicion of its genuineness ; and, indeed, it bears 
all the marks of having proceeded from Hogg's own pen. The 
air is a variety of The Boyne Water. 




ne'er could brook 



LADY KEITH'S LAMENT. 



101 



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for - eign loon to own or flat - ter; But 



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I will sing a ran - tin' sang, That 



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day cur king comes o'er the wa - ter. 

I may sit in my wee croo house, 

At the rock and the reel to toil fu' drear}' ; 
I may think on the day that 's gane, 

And sigh and sab till I grow weary. 
I ne'er could brook, I ne'er could brook, 

A foreign loon to own or flatter ; 
But I will sing a rantin' sang, 

That day our king comes ower the water. 

gin I live to see the day, 

That I hae begg'd, and begg'd frae Heaven, 

1 '11 fling my rock and reel away, 

And dance and sing frae morn till even : 
For there is ane I winna name, 

That comes the beingin' byke to scatter ; 
And I'll put on my bridal-gown, 

That day our king comes ower the water. 

I hae seen the guid auld day, 

The day o' pride and chieftain's glory, 

When royal Stuarts bare the sway, 
And ne'er heard tell o' Whig nor Tory. 




%^ 



102 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Though lyart be my locks and gray, 

And eild has crook'd me down — what matter ! 
I'll dance and sing ae other day, 

The day our king comes ower the water. 

A curse on dull and drawling Whig, 

The whining, ranting, low deceiver, 
Wi' heart sae black, and look sae big, 

And canting tongue o' clish-ma-claver ! 
My father was a guid lord's son, 

My mother was an earl's daughter ; 
And I'll be Lady Keith again, 

That day our king comes ower the water. 



OVER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. 



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Come boat me o'er, Come row me o'er, Come 



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boat me o'er to Char -lie 5 I'll gie John Koss an- 



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bee To fer - ry me o'er to Char - lie. 
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We '11 o'er the wa - ter and 



o'er the sea, We'll 



OVER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. 



103 



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o'er the wa - ter to Char - lie : Come weal, come woe, we'll 



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gather and go, And live and die wi' Char- lie. 

Come "boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gie John Ross another "bawbee 
To ferry me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live and die wi' Charlie. 

Weel, weel, I lo'e my Charlie's name, 
Though some there be that abhor him ; 

But oh to see Auld Nick gaun hame, 
And Charlie's foes before him ! 

I swear by moon and stars sae bright, 

And the sun that glances early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 

I'd risk them a' for Charlie ! 

I once had sons, I now hae nane, 

I bred them, toiling sairly ; 
And I wad bear them a' again, 

And lose them a' for Charlie ! 

This song probably took its rise about the time when a section 
of the people of Scotland acted with such sad results upon its 
sentiment. In coming to us, however, through the hands of 
Burns and Hogg, it has doubtless sustained some changes. The 
tune appeared in the fourth volume of Oswald's Pocket Companion. 



104 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE SOUTERS 0' SELKIRK. 

At some time, probably in the earlier half of the eighteenth 
century, the souters or shoemakers of Selkirk — a town noted for 
that craft — had a competition at football with certain men of the 
Merse, retainers of the Earl of Hume. The souters won, and 
their victory was celebrated in a boisterous song and air, the 
latter of which is sure of permanent preservation. 



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(It's) up wi' the sou-ters o' Sel - kirk, And 



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down wi' the Earl of Hume ; But up wi 



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shoon. (It 's) fy up - on yel - low and yel - low, And 

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fy up - on yel - low and green, But up wi' the 



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true blue and scar - let, And up wi' the 



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sing - le soled shoon. 



THE SOUTERS O' SELKIRK. 105 

Up wi' the souters o' Selkirk, 

And down wi' the Earl of Hume ; 
But up wi' ilka braw callant 

That sews the single-soled shoon. 
Fy upon yellow and yellow, 

And fy upon yellow and green, 
But up wi' the true blue and scarlet, 
And up wi' the single-soled shoon. 

Up wi' the lads o' the Forest, 
That ne'er to the Southron wad yield ; 

But deil scoup o' Hume and his menyie, 
That stood sae abeigh on the field. 

Fy on the green and the yellow, 1 

The craw-hearted loons o' the Merse ; 
But here's to the souters o' Selkirk, 

The elshin, the lingle, and birse. 

Then up wi' the souters o' Selkirk, 

For they are baith trusty and leal ; 
And up wi' the lads o' the Forest, 

And down wi' the Merse to the deil ! 

The allusions made to the brave conduct of the souters of 
Selkirk, and the disaffection popularly but unjustly ascribed to 
the Lord Hume, at the Battle of Flodden, have led to a supposi- 
tion that this song relates purely to that conflict. The above 
account, however, which is that given by the Rev. Mr Robertson 
in his Statistical Account of Selkirk, seems to be the only one 
entitled to any respect. In the song, it must be admitted, there 
is little poetry or common sense ; but the air is one of great 
merit. 

1 The livery of the Hume family. 



UttmcroHs Songs. 




THE WOOING OF JENNY AND JOCK. 

This very curious song dates not later than the regency of Moray, 
as it is inserted in the Bannatyne Manuscript, 1 568. In the present 
~opy, which was directly transcribed from the MS., the spelling is 
modernised, but no other changes are made. The vanity of the 
mother-in-law, which leads her to give a catalogue of her daughter's 
worldly goods and chattels, and draws from the wooer an ecpually 
minute inventory of his possessions, may be considered fortunate 
for us, as we are thus furnished with an exhaustive picture of the 
' guids and gear ' of a Scotch yeoman of the sixteenth century. 



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Eo- bin's Jock cam to 



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our feast -even when we were f< 



She brauk - it fast and 



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made her bon - ny, And said, Jock, come ye for to woo ? 



110 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Robin's Jock cam to woo our Jenny, 
On our feast-even when we were fou ; 
She brankitfast and made her bonny, 
And said, Jock, come ye for to woo 1 
She burneist her, baith breist and brow, 
And made her clear as ony clock ; 
Then spak her dame, and said, I trow, 
Ye come to woo our Jenny, Jock. 

Jock said, Forsuith, I yearn full fain 
To loot l my heid, and sit down by you : 
Than spak her mother, and said again, 
My bairn has tocher-guid 2 to gie you. 
Te-hee, quoth Jenny, Keek, keek, I see you ! 
Mother, yon man maks you a mock : 
I shrew thee, leear ! full leese me you, 
I come to woo your Jenny, quoth Jock. 

My baim, she says, has of her awin 
Ane guse, ane gryce, 3 ane cock, ane hen, 
Ane calf, ane hog, ane foot-braid sawin, 4 
Ane kirn, ane pin, that ye weel ken ; 
Ane pig. 5 ane pot, ane raip there ben, 
Ane fork, ane fiaik, ane reel, ane rock, 
Dishes and dublers nine or ten : 
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock ? 

Ane blanket, and ane wecht also, 
Ane shool, ane sheet, and ane lang flail, 
Ane ark, 6 ane amry, 7 and ladles two, 
Ane milk-syth, with ane swine-tail, 

1 Stoop. 2 Portion. 3 Young pig. 

4 Corn sufficient to sow a foot-breadth. 5 Pipkin. 

6 Large chest for meal. 7 Cupboard. 



THE WOOING OF JENNY AND JOCK. Ill 

Ane rusty whittle to sheer the kail, 
Ane wheel, ane mell the beir to knock, 
Ane cog, ane card wanting ane nail ; 
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock ? 

Ane furni, ane furlot, ane pot, ane peck, 

Ane tub, ane barrow, with ane wheelband, 

Ane turse, ane trouch, and ane meal-sack, 

Ane spurtle braid, and ane elwand. 

Jock took Jenny by the hand, 

And cried ane feast, and slew ane cock. 

And made a brydal up-o-land ; 

Now have I gotten Jenny, quoth Jock. 

Now, dame, I have your bairn married, 
Suppose ye mak it never sae teuch ; 
I lat you wit she's nocht miscarried, 
It is weel kenned I have eneuch : 
Ane crookit gleyd 1 fell in ane heuch, 
Ane spade, ane spit, ane spur, ane sock ; 
Withouten oxen I have a pleuch, 
To gang together Jenny and Jock. 

I have ane helter, ane eik, ane heck, 

Ane cord, ane creel, and als ane cradle, 

Five fidder 2 of rags to stuff ane jack, 

Ane auld pannel of ane laid saddle, 

Ane pepper pock, made of a paidel, 3 

Ane spounge, ane spindle wanting ane knock, 

Twa lusty lips to lick ane ladle, 

To gang together Jenny and Jock. 

Ane bregham, 4 and twa brooches fine, 
Weel buckled with a bridle reinyie, 5 
Ane serk made of the Lincum twine, 
Ane gay green cloak that will not steinzie ; 6 

1 An old horse. 2 A certain amount by weight. 

3 A leather bag for pedler's wares. 4 Horse-collar. 5 Rein. 6 Stain. 



112 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

And yet, for mister, I will not feinyie, 
Five hundred flaes now in a flock, 
Call ye noclit that ane jolly menyie, 
To gae together Jenny and Jock ? 



Ane treen trencher, ane ramhorn s 



pune, 



All graith that gaes to hobble shoon, 1 

Ane thrawcrook to twine ane tether, 

Ane bridle, ane girth, and ane swyne blethe •, 

Ane masken-vat, ane fettered lock, 

Ane sheep weel keepit frae ill weather, 

To gang together Jenny and Jock. 

Tak thae for my part of the feast, 
It is weel known I am weel bodin ; 2 
Ye may not say my part is least. 
The wife said, Speed ; the kail are sodden, 
And als the laverock is fuft 3 and lodden, 
When ye have done tak hame the broche. 
The roast was teuch, sae were they bodin ; 4 
Syne gaed together Jenny and Jock. 



TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE. 

To all appearance, this song is in much the same style as the 
preceding ; and what seems further to justify its being assigned 
to the sixteenth century, is the quotation of a passage appa- 
rently from it by Iago in Othello, with only the change of King 
Robert into King Stephen. We cannot, however, trace the song 
further back than the Tea-table Miscellany of Ramsay, 1724. 

1 Hob-nailed shoes. 2 Furnished. 

s The lark on the spit is fully done. 4 So they had foretold. 



TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE. 



113 



It is needless to remark how the humour of the matrimonial 
dialogue has rendered the song one of the most favourite with 
the entire nation. The air, which suits the verses remarkably 
well, was considered by Mr Stenhouse as most probably coeval 
with it. 



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In win - ter, when the rain rain'd jcauld, And 



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frost and snaw on il - ka hill, And Boreas, wi' his 

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blasts sae bauld, Was threafnin' a 1 our kje to kill : Then 



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Bell, my wife, who lo'es na strife, She said to me richt 

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has - ti - lie, Get up, guidman, save Crummie's life, And 



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tak your auld cloak a - bout ye. 

In Avinter, when the rain rain'd cauld, 
And frost and snaw on ilka hill, 

And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld, 
Was threat'nin' a' our kye to kill : 



114 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Then Bell, my wife, who lo'es na strife. 

She said to me richt hastilie, 
Get up, guidman, save Crummie's life, 

And tak your auld cloak about ye. 1 

My Crumniie is a usefu' cow, 

And she is come of a good kin' ; 
Aft has she wet the bairns's mou', 

And I am laith that she should tyne ; 
Get up, guidman, it is fu' time, 

The sun shines frae the lift sae hie ; 
Sloth never made a gracious end ; 

Gae, tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My cloak was ance a guid gray cloak, 

When it was fitting for my wear ; 
But now it 's scantly worth a groat, 

For I have worn 't this thretty year : 
Let 's spend the gear that we hae won, 

We little ken the day we '11 die ; 
Then I '11 be proud, since I have sworn 

To hae a new cloak about me. 

In days when our King Robert rang, 

His trews they cost but half-a-croun ; 
He said they were a groat ower dear, 

And ca'd the tailor thief and loon : 
He was the king that wore a croun, 

And thou's the man of laigh degree : 
It's pride puts a' the country doun ; 

Sae tak thy auld cloak about ye. 

1 In singing this song, a mistake is very generally made in the empha- 
sising of the final line of the verses, which ought to be 



And tak your auld cloak about ye. 



TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE. 115 

Ilka land has its ain lauch, 

Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool ; 
I think the world is a' gane wrang, 

When ilka wife her man wad rule : 
Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab, 

As they are girded gallantlie, 
While I sit hurklin i' the asse ? — 

I '11 hae a new cloak about me. 

Guidman, I wat it 's thretty year 

Sin' we did ane anither ken ; 
And we hae had atween us twa 

Of lads and bonnie lasses ten : 
Now they are women grown and men, 

I wish and pray weel may they be ; 
If you would prove a guid husband, 

E'en tak your auld cloak about ye. 

Bell, my wife, she lo'es na strife, 

But she would guide me, if she can ; 
And, to maintain an easy life, 

I aft maun yield, though I 'm guidman : 
Nocht 's to be gain'd at woman's hand, 

Unless ye gie her a' the plea ; 
Then I '11 leave aff where I began, 

And tak my auld cloak about me. 



DAME, DO THE THING WHILK I DESIRE. 



of humour and composition to Tak your Auld Cloak about Ye, is 
given by Ritson in his Scottish Songs, 1794, from a manuscript 
of Charles I.'s time in the British Museum (Bib. Sloan, 1489). 



116 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Get up, guidwife, don on your claise, 

And to the market mak you bonne : 
"lis lang time sin' your neebors rase ; 

They 're weel-nigh gotten into the toune. 

See ye don on your better goune, 
And gar the lasse big on the fyre. 

Dame, do not look as ye wad frowne-, 
But doe the thing whilk I desyre. 

1 spier what haste ye hae, guidman ! 

Your mother staid till ye war born ; 
Wad ye be at the tother can, 

To scoure your throat sae sune this mome ? 

Guid faith, I haud it but a scorne, 
That ye suld with my rising mell ; x 

For when ye have baith said and sworne, 
I '11 do but what I like mysell. 

Guidwife, we maun needs have a care, 

Sae lang 's we wonne in neebors' rawe, 
O' neeborheid to tak a share, 

And rise up when the cocks does crawe ; 

For I have heard an auld said sawe, 
1 They that rise the last big on the fyre.' 

What wind or weather so ever blaw, 
Dame, do the thing whilk I desyre. 

Nay, what do ye talk of neeborheid ? 

Gif I lig in my bed till noone, 
By nae man's shins I bake my breid, 

And ye need not reck what I have done. 

Nay, look to the clooting o' your shoone, 
And with my rising do not mell ; 

For, gin ye lig baith sheets abune, 
I '11 do but what I will mysell. 

1 Meddle. 



DAME, DO THE THING WHILK I DESIRE. 117 

Guidwife, ye maun needs tak a care 

To save the geare that we hae won ; 
Or lay away baith plow and car, 

And hang up Ring l when a' is done. 

Then may our bairns a-begging run, 
To seek their mister 2 in the myre. 

Sae fair a thread as we hae won ! 
Dame, do the thing whilk I require. 

Guidman, ye may weel a-begging gang, 

Ye seem sae weel to bear the pocke : 
Ye may as weel gang sune as syne, 

To seek your meat amang guid folke. 

In ilka house ye '11 get a locke, 3 
When ye come whar your gossips dwell. 

Nay, lo you luik sae like a gowke, 
I '11 do but what I list mysell. 

Guidwife, you promised, when we were wed, 

That ye wad me truly obey ; 
Mess John can witness what you said, 

And I '11 go fetch him in this day : 

And, gif that haly man will say, 
Ye 'se do the thing that I desyre, 

Then sail we sune end up this fray, 
And ye sail do what I require. 

I nowther care for John nor Jacke — 

I '11 tak my pleasure at my ease ; 
I care not what you say a placke — 

Ye may go fetch him gin ye please. 

And, gin ye want ane of a mease, 
Ye may e'en gae fetch the deil frae helle ; 

I wad you wad let your japin cease, 
For I '11 do but what I like mysell. 

4 The dog, ^ Supposed to signify money, or means of livelihood, 

3 Handful. 



118 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Weil, sin' it will nae better be, 

I '11 tak my share or a' be gane : 
The warst card in my hand sail flee, 

And, i' faith, I wait I can shifte for ane. 

I '11 sell the plow, and lay to wadd the waine, 
And the greatest spender sail beare the bell : 

And then, when all the guids are gane, 
Dame, do the thing ye list yoursell. 



EVER ALAKE MY AULD GUIDMAN. 1 

This is a third song, of apparently old date, upon the humours 
involved in matrimonial altercations. It appeared in the Tea- 
table Miscellany, marked as a song of unknown antiquity. 

- Ml , N * >r— r-r- -r- * 



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Late in an even - ing forth I went, A 



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man and his wife were 



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can - na weel tell ye how it began ; But aye she wail'd her 
1 Anglice — My first husband. 



EVER ALAKE MY AULD GUIDMAN. 



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wretch - ed life, And cried, Ev - er a - lake ■ my 



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auld guid - man! 

Late in an evening forth I went, 

A little before the sun gaed down ; 
And there I chanced, by accident, 

To light on a battle new begun. 
A man and his wife were faun in strife ; 

I canna weel tell how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

And cried, Ever alake my auld guidman ! 



The auld guidman that thou tells of, 

The country kens where he was born, 
Was but a puir silly vagabond, 

And ilka ane leuch him to scorn ; 
For he did spend and mak an end 

Of gear that his forefathers wan ; 
He gart the puir stand frae the door : 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld guidman. 

SHE. 

My heart, alake, is like to break, 

When I think on my winsome John ; 

His blinking een, and gait sae free, 
. Was naething like thee, thou dozent drone. 

His rosy face and flaxen hair, 
And skin as white as ony swan, 

Was large and tall, and comely withal ; 

And thou 'It never be like my auld guidman. 



120 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

HE. 

Why dost thou pleen ? I thee mainteen ; 

For meal and maut thou disna want ; 
But thy wild bees I canna please, 

Now when our gear 'gins to grow scant. 
Of household stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 
Of siclike ware he left thee bare : 

Sae tell me nae mair of thy auld guidman. 

SHE. 

Yes, I may tell, and fret mysell, 

To think on the blythe days I had, 
When he and I thegither lay 

In arms, into a weel-made bed. 
But now I sigh, and may be sad ; 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan ; 
Thou faulds thy feet, and fa's asleep : 

And thou 'It never be like my auld guidmatL 

Then coming was the nicht sae dark, 

And gane was a' the licht of day ; 
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, 

And therefore wad nae langer stay. 
Then up he gat, and he ran his way ; 

I trow the wife the day she wan ; 
And aye the owerword o' the fray 

Was, Ever alake my auld guidman ! 



I HAE LAID THREE HERRING IN SAUT. 
I hae laid three herrin' in saut — 

Lass, gin ye '11 tak me, tell me now ; 
I hae brew'n three pickles o' maut, 
And I canna come ilka day to woo — 
To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo, 
And I canna come ilka day to woo. 



I HAE LAID THREE HERRING IN SAUT. 121 

I hae a wee calf that wad fain be a cow — 

Lass, gin ye '11 tak me, tell me now ; 

I hae a gryce that wad fain be a sow, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo — 

To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo. 



This song appears as a fragment in Herd's Collection, 1776; 
but for the origin of the ditty we have to go back to an early 
period of the sixteenth century. The people who heard the 
sermons of Cramner and Latimer in England, and of Knox in 
Scotland, were familiar with a droll canticle on the idea of a 
lover professing to make a great show of small possessions to 
his sweetheart, and telling her that his time was too valuable to 
allow of his wooing her every day. The English song about the 
time of Henry VIII. opened thus : 

Joan, quoth John, when will this be ? 

Tell me, when wilt thou marry me, 

My corn, and eke my calf and rents, 

My lands and all my tenements : 

Say, Joan, quoth John, what wilt thou do ? 

I cannot come every day to woo. 1 

Some ages later, what appears as the entire song, but probably 
a good deal modified, was presented in musical publications : as 
follows, for example, in Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1698. 

I 've corn and hay in the barn hard by, 
And three fat hogs pent up in the stye, 
I have a mare and she is coal-black, 
I ride on her tail to save her back. 
Then say, my Joan, &c. 

1 This little song was printed in Smith's Musica Antiqua (1812) as from 
a manuscript of the above-mentioned reign. The above copy is as it 
appears more correctly in Rimbault's Little Booh of Songs and Ballads. 



122 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

I have a cheese upon the shelf, 
And I cannot eat it all myself ; 
I have three good marks that lie in a rag, 
In the nook of the chimney instead of a bag. 
Then say, my Joan, &c. 



To marry I would have thy consent, 

But, faith, I never could compliment ; 

I can say nought but ' Hey, go ho,' 

Words that belong to the cart and the plough. 

Then say, my Joan, wilt that not do ? 

I cannot come every day to woo. 

There was also, as early as 1611, a song of seven stanzas, giving 
the same idea only a little modified, the first verse being : 

I have house and land in Kent, 

And if you will love me, love me now ; 
Twopence-halfpenny is my rent ; 

I cannot come every day to woo. 1 

These, it will he observed, are English songs ; "but there was a 
Scottish parallel, of which Lord Hailes gave a verse in the notes 
to his extracts from the Bannatyne Manuscript : 

I hae a wee lairdship down in the Merse 

[Lass, gin ye loe me, tell me now], 
The nineteenth part of a goose's grass, 

And I wonna come ilka day to woo. 

The nineteenth part of a goose's grass in the Merse would be a 
very fair counterpart to the twopence-halfpenny rent in Kent. 

In the last century, a new version of I hae laid Three Herrirt 
in Saut was produced by James Tytler, very much in the 
burlesque style of the old verses. It is given with the air in 
Johnson's Musical Museum as follows : 



1 Melesmata, 1617. 



I HAE LAID A HERRING IN SAUT. 



123 



fat 



I hae laid a her - ring in saut, Lass, gin ye lo'e me, 
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tell me now ; I hae brew'd a for - pit o' maut, And I 



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carina come il - ka day to woo 



I hae a calf that will 






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soon be a cow, Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now: 



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a stook, and I '11 soon hae a mowe, And I 



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- na come il - ka day to woo. 

I hae laid a herring in saut — 

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 
I hae brew'd a forpit o' maut, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo : 
I hae a calf that will soon be a cow — 

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 
I hae a stook, and I '11 soon hae a mowe, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo : 

I hae a house upon yon moor — 
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 

Three sparrows may dance upon the floor, 
And I canna come ilka day to woo : 



124 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



I liae a but, and I liae a ben — 

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 
A penny to keep, and a penny to spen', 

And I canna come ilka day to woo : 

1 liae a hen wi' a happitie-leg — 

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 
That ilka day lays me an egg, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo : 
I hae a cheese upon my skelf — 

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ; 
And soon wi' mites 'twill rin itself, 

And I canna come ilka day to woo. 

It may be remarked, that the air of I hae laid a Herrirf in 
Saut, as usually sung in Scotland, is a quick and lively one. As 
is not uncommon, however, it is susceptible of great tenderness 
when played slow. Burns's pretty pastoral song, The Bonnie 
Blinks of Mary's Ee, has been of late years sung to this tune in 
slow time. 1 



DONALD COUPEE. 

We get a very decisive example of the homely simplicity and 
rustic baldness of the early popular music of Scotland, in an 
undoubted favourite lively air of at least the age of the Common- 
wealth — namely, Donald Couper — which has been preserved in 
Playford's Dancing Master, published in 1657. That it was 
a dancing tune in general esteem then and in the reign of 
Charles II. is proved, first, by its being thus admitted into a 
contemporary English collection ; and, secondly, by an allusion 
to it in Cleland's poem on the Highland Host, circa 1679 : 

' Trumpets sounded, skenes were glancing, 
Some were Donald Couper dancing.' 

Nor did this wide popularity soon cease, for in Durfey's Pills to 
1 See Wood's Songs of Scotland, ii. 120. 



DONALD COUPER. 



125 



Purge Melancholy, volume v., published in 17 19, there is an 
indecorous song by himself ' to the tune of Daniel Cooper? 

If the original verses, as published by Herd, and here placed 
in connection with Playford's version of the air, had been 
presented by Playford also, we should have had an equally 
expressive example of what nearly all our evidence tends to 
shew, the extreme rusticity, as well as puerility, of the great 
bulk of our national song poetry before the time when a few 
men of cultivated talents — Sir William Scott (?), Lieutenant 
Hamilton (?), Ramsay, Crawford, Mallet, and others — took it up, 
purified, and elevated it. 

The history of our national airs and songs may be said to 
exhibit a constant process of change upon certain original 
elements. One air becomes the mother of a fairer daughter, 0^ 
of a family of fairer daughters. Thus we can readily trace, in 
the rude staccato strains of Donald Gouper, the basis of the much 
superior For d that, and d that. The elements of several of our 
best existing airs are seen in the variously named melodies of 
the Skene Manuscript, as some of the roots of our language are 
visible in Sanscrit. 



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Don - aid Cou - per and his man, They 've gane to the 



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fan- ; They 've gane to court 



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there. Sing hey Don - aid, 

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how Don -aid, Hey Don - aid Cou - per! He's 



gane a - wa' to court a wife, And lie 's come harne with- 



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out her ! 



Donald Couper and his man, 
They 've gane to the fair ; 
They 've gane to court a bonnie lass ; 
But fient a ane was there. 

Sing hey Donald, how Donald, 

Hey Donald Couper ! 
He 's gane awa' to court a wife, 
And he 's come hame without her ! 

But he has gotten an auld wife, 
And she 's come hirplin' hame ; 

And she 's faun o'er the buffet stool, 
And brak her rumple bane ! 



In Playford's Dancing Master, 1657, is inserted another of the 
primitive rustic airs of Scotland, one which is still recognised as 
Hand awa! frae me, Donald, this title being probably a refrain 
of the original foolish verses for which this was the appropriate 
music. The air is here reproduced ; but as the original song or 
rant is lost, we are obliged to adapt to the melody a superior 
and more modern song, which was published by Herd, being 
a dialogue between a lover and his mistress, in which a mis- 
understanding is pleasantly cleared up (here, however, somewhat 
abridged). 



HAUD AWA\ BIDE AWA': 



127 



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come a - wa', come a - wa, Come a - wa' wi 



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Jen - ny ; Sic frowns I can - na bear frae ane Whase 



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smiles ance ravished me, Jen-ny. If you'll be kind, you'll 



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er find That ought can al - ter me, Jen - ny; For 



you're the mistress of my mind, What - e'er you think of 




Jen - nv. 



come awa', come awa', 

Come awa' wi' me, Jenny ; 
Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane 

Whase smiles ance ravished me, Jenny. 
If you '11 he kind, yon '11 never find 

That ought can alter me, Jenny ; 
For you 're the mistress of my mind, 

Whate'er you think of me, Jenny. 



128 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

JENNY. 

haud awa', liaucl awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald ; 
Your heart is made o'er large for ane, 

It is not meet for me, Donald. 
Some fickle mistress you may find, 

Will jilt as fast as thee, Donald ; 
To ilka swain she will prove kind, 

And nae less kind to thee, Donald. 

[0] now for ever haud awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald ; 
Gae seek a heart that 's like your ain, 

And come nae mair to me, Donald. 
For I '11 reserve mysel for ane, 

For ane that 's liker me, Donald ; 
If sic a ane I canna find, 

I '11 ne'er lo'e man nor thee, Donald ! 



Then, I 'm thy man, and false report 

Has only tauld a lie, Jenny ; 
To try thy truth and make us sport, 

The tale was raised by me, Jenny. 

JENNY. 

When ye prove this, and still can love, 

Then come awa' wi' me, Donald ; 
I 'm weel content ne'er to repent 

That I hae smiled on thee, Donald. 

Another and still more recent song to this tune (published 
in Ritson's Collection, 1794) is in a comic vein, exhibiting 
some of the peculiarities of the Scottish mountaineer when he 
descends to the Lowlands and attempts to enunciate himself 
in Anglo-Saxon. 



HAUD AWA' FRAE ME, DONALD ! 

O will ye hae ta tartan plaid, 

Or will ye hae ta ring, matarn ? 
Or will ye hae ta kiss o' me, 

And dat's a pretty ting, matam 1 
Haud awa', bide awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald ; 
I '11 neither kiss nor hae a ring, 
Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald. 

Hur can beshow a petter hough 

Tan him tat wears ta crown, matam ; 
Hersel hae pistol and claymore, 
To flee ta Lawland loon, matam. 
Haud awa', bide awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald, 
For a' your houghs and warlike arms 
You 're not a match for me, Donald. 

In ta morning, when ye rise, 

Ye 'se get fresh whey for tea, matam ; 
Sweet milk and ream as much you please, 
Far cheeper tan Bohea, matam. 
Haud awa', bide awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald, 
I winna quit my morning's tea ; 
Your whey will ne'er agree, Donald. 

Faits ye 'se pe ket a siller brootch, 
Far pigger as ta moon, matam ; 

Ye 'se ride in curroch 'stead o' coach, 
And wow put ye '11 pe fine, matam. 



130 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Hand awa', bide awa', 

Haud awa' frae me, Donald ; 

For a' your Highland rarities, 

You 're not a match, for me, Donald. 

What 's tis a way tat ye '11 pe kind 
To a protty man like me, matam ! 

Sae lang 's claymore pe py my side, 
I '11 never marry thee, matam ! 

come awa', come awa', 

come awa' wi' me, Donald, 

1 waclna quit my Highlandman ; 
Frae Lawlands set me free, Donald. 



TIBBIE FOWLER. 

The following song, full of Scotch cynical humour, very cleverly 
expressed, first appeared complete in Johnson's Museum, a mere 
fragment having previously been given by Herd. It probably 
refers to a real Tibbie Fowler, and tradition at Leith points to 
the person in a certain Isabella Fowler, who was married to a 
son of Logan of Restalrig, the conspirator, in the seventeenth 
century. (Campbell's History of Leith, note, p. 314.) A house 
which is believed to have belonged to the pair, bearing the date 
1636, is pointed out in the Sheriff-brae, in Leith. 

It happens that tradition here indicates persons who actually 
existed. That George Logan, son of the conspirator, wedded 
Isobel Fowler, daughter of Ludowick Fowler of Burncastle, is 
stated on authentic grounds by Nisbet (Heraldry, i. 202). We 
know not, however, whether Isobel Fowler had previously been 
the subject of extensive competition among the other sex, or 
whether she sank into the arms of Logan without a sigh from 
herself or others. Neither have we any authentic account of the 
date of the composition. The song does not appear to be in a 
style earlier than the reign of George I. 



TIBBIE FOWLER. 



131 



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Tib - bie Fow - ler 



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the Glen, There's 



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Chorus. 



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Woo 

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Court - in' 

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Fil - thy elf, it's 



for her 



pelf That 



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-•- -#- -&- 



the lads are woo - in' at her. 



Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, 

There 's ower mony wooing at her : 
Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, 

There 's ower mony wooing at her. 



132 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Wooin' at lier, pu'in' at her, 

Courtin' her, and canna get her ; 

Filthy elf, it 's for her pelf 

That a' the lads are wooin' at her 

Ten cam east, and ten cam west ; 

Ten cam rowin' ower the water ; 
Twa cam down the lang dyke-side : 

There 's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her. 

There 's seven hut, and seven hen, 
Seven in the pantry wi' her ; 

Twenty head ahout the door : 

There 's ane-and-forty wooin' at her ! 

She 's got pendles in her lugs ; 

Cockle-shells wad set her better ! 
High-heel'd shoon, and siller tags ; 

And a' the lads are wooin' at her. 

Be a lassie e'er sae black, 

Gin she hae the name o' siller, 

Set her up on Tintock tap, 

The wind will blaw a man till her. 

Be a lassie e'er so fair, 

An she want the penny siller, 

A fiie may fell her in the air, 
Before a man be even'd till her. 



BONNIE DUNDEE. 

There is a long musical genealogy connected with the now 
industrious and populous town of Dundee. First, in the Skene 
Manuscript, temp. Car. Primi, there occurs a melody named 
Adieu, Dundee, which is only a simple form of the fine air now 



BONNIE DUNDEE 133 

recognised as Bonnie Dundee. In the latter part of the seven- 
teenth century, the tune, under the name of Bonnie Dundee, was 
known in England, for it appears by that title in an Appendix 
to one of the editions of Playford's Dancing Master, of date 1688. 
To what verses was it then sung ? Possibly to a simple ditty 
which still retains a certain degree of popularity in Scotland, 
beginning : 

whar gat ye that haver-meal bannock ? 
Silly blind body, O dinna ye see ? 

1 gat it frae a brisk sodger laddie, 
Atween St Johnston and Bonnie Dundee. 

Oh, gin I saw the dear laddie that gae me 't ! 

Aft has he doudled me on o' his knee. 
But now he 's awa', and I dinna ken whar he 's, 

O gin he was back to his minnie and me ! x 

Possibly, however, I feel sorry to say, to a remarkably coarse 
Grub Street song of licentious sentiment, which is printed in 
more than one English collection of the early part of the 
eighteenth century, under the title of Jockey's Deliverance, or 

1 In Notes and Queries, August 1859, is printed a various version of 
this song, transmitted by a gentleman styling himself Yemen, who states 
that he found it among some old family papers : 

O ! whar got ye that auld crooked penny ? 
For ane o' bricht goud wad ye niffer wi' me? 
Richt fou are baith ends o' my green silken wallet, 
And high are my wa's, ower in Bonnie Dundee. 
O ! gin I saw the dear laddie that had it, 
Wha, when we were bairnies twa, gied it to me, 
For a' the bricht goud in your green silken wallet 
I never wad niffer my crooked bawbee. 

! whar got ye that auld worsted plaidie ? 
A mantle o' satin is fitter for ye. 

1 '11 dead ye in satin, and mak ye a lady, 
Gin ye 'd gang wi' me to Bonnie Dundee. 

Ye may dead me in satin and mak me a lady, 
And tak me ower heartless to Bonnie Dundee, 
But my heart neither satin nor goud can procure ye, 
I sell't it lang syne for this crooked bawbee. 



134 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



the Valiant Escape from Dundee, professedly to be sung ' to an 
Excellent Tune, called Bonny Dundee : ' which song begins in a 
strain giving it the appearance of a parody or imitation of some 
preceding ballad : 

Where gottest thou the Haver-mill Bonack ? 
Blind hooby, canst thou not see ? 

I 'se got it out of a Scotchman's wallet, &c. 

This song describes the escape of a treacherous and very reckless 
profligate from Dundee, and has for a refrain : 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saddle my horse, and call up my man ; 
Come open the gates and let me go free, 
For I 'se gang no more to Bonnie Dundee. 

The last verse is as follows : 

With swords ready drawn they rid to the gate, 

Where being denied a free passage through, 
The Master and Man they fought at that rate, 

That some ran away and others they slew ; 
Thus Jockey the Laird and Sawney the Man, 
They valiantly fought as Highlanders can, 
In spite of the loons, they set themselves free, 
And so bid adieu to Bonnie Dundee. 

In illustration of which transaction, there is an engraving 
representing a hand-to-hand fight at the gate of Dundee — a gate, 
however, such as it would have been difficult to find in any 
Scotch town in the seventeenth century. 

In order to convey the air of Bonnie Dundee to the modern 
reader, it may be allowable to present the old song as modified 
by Burns : 



M 



Mp 



(x 



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W 



l —i—d. 



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-t- 

O whare did ye get that haver - meal bannock? 0, 



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sil - ly auld bo - dy, 0, din - na 



y e 



BONNIE DUNDEE. 



135 



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gat 



it frae a young brisk sodger lad - die, 



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tween St John - ston and Bon - nie Dun - 



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the 



lad - die that gae me 't ! 



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Aft has he dan - died, me 

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his knee ; May 



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m 



heav 



en pro 



my bon - nie Scots lad - die, And 



fc 



m 



?=P= 



Hit- 



send him safe hame to his ba - by and me. 



whare did ye get that haver-meal bannock ? 
0, silly auld body, 0, dinna ye see, 

1 gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie, 

Between St Johnston and Bonnie Dundee. 
O, gin I saw the laddie that gae nie 't ! 

Aft has he dandled me on his knee ; 
May heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his baby and me. 



My blessings upon thy sweet wee lippie ! 

My blessings upon thy bonnie e'e-bree ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie, 

Thou 's aye be the dearer and dearer to me ! 



136 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



But I '11 bigg a bowir on yon bonnie banks, 
Where Tay rins wimpling by sae clear ; 

And I '11 cleid thee in the tartan sae fine, 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie sae dear. 



EATTLIN' ROARIN' WILLIE. 



^^^m^^m 



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rattlin' roar - in' Wil - lie, he held to the fair, And 



^=S=^ 



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for to sell his fid - die, And buy some oth - er ware. But, 

IN . S =:fe 



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part-ing wi' his fid - die, The saut tear blin't his e'e; And 



&ES=S=i 



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ratt - lin' roar -in' Wil - lie, Ye 're wel-eome hame to me. 



rattlin' roarin' Willie, 

he held to the fair, 
And for to sell his fiddle, 

And buy some other ware. 
But, parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 
And rattlin' roarin' Willie, 

Ye 're welcome hame to me. 



RATTLIN' ROARIN' WILLIE. 137 

0, Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

O sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
0, Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine. 
If I should sell my fiddle 

The warld wad think I was mad, 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I hae had. 

This song, which seems to have appeared for the first time in 
Johnson's Musical Museum, 1 788, has little intelligence in it — 
little more than rant — and yet, from the hint it gives of a 
mirthful insouciant character, and a certain pathos regarding the 
fiddle — with which the hero has so come to intercommunicate 
himself, that he speaks as if it had been a living thing which 
partook of his merriment — we should not like to part with it. 
So also had felt Eobert Burns, who communicated it to the 
Museum, along with the original air. The bard, on coming to 
Edinburgh, found his way to a certain club of good fellows 
taking to themselves the name of the Crochallan Fencibles, from 
the name of a Highland song wherewith their host, Daniel 
Douglas, used to regale them. Among these merry men, the 
face of one named Willie Dunbar — in daylight, a respectable 
' writer ' (that is, solicitor) — shone out with extraordinary lustre, 
seeming to the rustic bard a perfect realisation of the Kantin' 
Koarin' Willie of the old song. Hereupon the muse of Kyle 
broke out in an additional stanza, descriptive of Dunbar's 
appearance in the presidentship of the Crochallan Fencibles : 

As I cam by Crochallan, 

I cannily keekit ben : 
Rattlin' roarin' Willie 

Was sittin' at yon board-en', 
Sittin' at yon board-en', 

Amang guid companie ; 
Rattlin' roarin' Willie, 

Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 

Burns felt peculiarly sorry, on leaving Edinburgh, for his 



138 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

parting with Willie Dunbar, and wrote to him : ' 1 have a 
strong fancy that, in some future eccentric planet, the comet 
of happier systems than any with which astronomy is yet 
acquainted, you and I, among the harum-scarum sons of imagin- 
ation and whim, with a hearty shake of a hand, a metaphor, 
and a laugh, shall recognise old acquaintance.' 

After these particulars, it is curious to learn that the simple 
little ballad relating to Rattlin' Roarin' Willie and his fiddle 
must have been kept alive on the breath of tradition for a 
century before the days of Burns. Rantin' Roarirf Willie is 
mentioned as a tune in the Tea-table Miscellany, 1724, being 
in all likelihood that of the song which Burns preserved. We 
learn, however, from Sir Walter Scott that Rattlin' (or Rantin') 
Roarin' Willie was a real person, of whom it may be assumed 
that he probably lived in the seventeenth century, being a 
musician well known on the Border, and who, having the 
misfortune to murder a brother in trade who passed by the name 
of Sweet Milk, was executed at Jedburgh. One cannot suppose 
that so gay a man as Willie could commit deliberate murder. 
We may charitably surmise that the act was one of manslaughter 
or chance-medley only, in the course of one of those tavern 
brawls which used to be attended occasionally with bloody results 
in an age when all men wore weapons, and were continually 
getting into conditions under which a reckless use of them 
became nearly unavoidable. A contemporary ballad jested with 
the unfortunate minstrel on his condemnation to an ignominious 
death, saying : 

Drink maun be dear wi' Willie, 
When Sweet Milk gars him die. 

There is another snatch of traditionary song to the tune of 
Rattlin' Roarin' Willie, which presents the hero in an amatory 
light : 

Rattlin' roarin' Willie, 

Where have ye been sae late ? 
I Ve been to see my Peggy, 
Sae weel as I ken the gate ! 



AS I CAME IN BY FISHERRAW. 139 

Sae weel as I ken the gate, 

And the tirlin' o' the pin ; 
And, gang I late or ear', 
She '11 rise and let me in I 1 
In Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes, we find a fragment of Rattlm' 
RoarvrC Willie reduced to a nursery ditty. 2 



AS I CAME IN BY FISHERRAW. 
Herd's Collection, 1776, gives us a short rustic song, alluding 
to an unfortunate love affair in humble life, of which all that 
is presentable is as follows : 

As I came in by Fisherraw, 

Musselburgh was near me ; 

I threw my mussel-pock aside, 

And courted wi' my dearie. 

Up stairs, down stairs, 

Timmer stairs fear me ; 
I thought it lang to lie my lane, 
When I 'm sae near my dearie. 
The editor assigns to it as a tune Jenny Dang the Weaver. It 
appears to be one of the old simple country songs which Allan 
Ramsay well-intendingly endeavoured to supersede with purer, 
if not better verses, for he gives in his Tea-table Miscellany a 
song of his own, beginning 

O mither dear, I 'gin to fear, 
Though I 'm baith blithe and bonnie — 
as to the tune of Jenny Beguiled the Webster, and with an indi- 
cation of the auld chorus, as he phrases it, 'Up stairs, down 
stairs,' &c. 

There is reason to believe that the old song and air existed 
from a time a good way back in the seventeenth century, for 
in a poetical tract published in London in 1686, under the title 

1 Communicated to the editor in 1831 by Mr James Hendry, Keith, 
Aberdeenshire. 

2 See also Notes and Queries, second sexies, v. 186. 



140 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



of A Joco-Serious Discourse, in Two Dialogues between a North- 
umberland Gentleman and his Tenant, a Scotchman, by George 
Stuart, the said tenant is represented as singing the first verse 
ef one of his native songs as follows : 

This Janet is a bonnie lass, 
This Janet is my dearie ; 

What then need I fig by mysel, 
And Janet's bed sae near me ? 
which, however, the gentleman does not allow him to continue, 
such a strain being, he says, unfit to celebrate the coronation 
of their majesties (James II. and his queen). The tenant, thus 
interrupted, strikes up a more fitting strain as follows : 



m^mm 



^ 



The 



this 



tie is the heal - ing plant: What 



i 



i^ft 



33 



S 



=sfc: 



m 



then need I to fear me? For 



my guid health I 



I 



a 



"S 



ips 



ne'er can want, The this - tie grows so near me 



$ 



FE^3 



cures con- vul-sions (in the state), It helps a' these are 




aguish ; And rag - ing fevers 



will 'bate, Al- 



I 



? ^=a 



be - it they were plaguish. 



THE AULD MAN'S MARE'S DEAD. 



141 



The thistle is the healing plant : 

What then need I to fear me ? 
For my guid health I ne'er can want, 

The thistle grows so near me : 
It cures convulsions (in the state), 

It helps a' these are aguish ; 
And raging fevers it will 'bate v 

Albeit they were plaguish. 

Wha canna luve the thistle weel 

Are oddly gi'en to folly ; 
Take thou of it, and thou '11 ne'er feel 

Disease of melancholy : 
Against the rickets it is guid, 

The ligaments it looses, 
And purifies corrupted blood, 

Sae never spare thy doses. 

But this tune, it will be observed, is different from that now 
recognised as Jenny Dang the Weaver. 



THE AULD MAN'S MARE'S DEAD. 



ps^fe 



=fcm 



Spp=£^; 



The auld man's mare's dead, The poor man's mare's dead, The 







: y=^ 



auld man's mare 's dead, A mile a- boon Dun -dee. She was 



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f— t 



s 



fc=£ 



EE* 



cut lug- git, painch lip-pit, Steel warn -ed, stain -cher fit - tit, 



142 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



^ ^F f^ \^mm$ 



Chan - ler chafted, lang neckit, And vet the brute did die ! The 



i 



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*-- 



>- 



*— : — 9-r& ^tV " — : — ^ 5 " 



auld man's mare's dead, The poor man's mare's dead, The 



Pl^fefel^^l 



ild man's mare's dead, A mile a - boon Dun - dee. 

The auld man's mare 's dead, 
The poor man's mare 's dead, 
The auld man's mare 's dead, 
A mile aboon Dundee. 

She was cut-luggit, painch-lippit, 
Steel-warned, staincher-fittit, 
Chanler-chafted, lang-neckit, 
And yet the brute did die ! 

The auld man's mare 's dead, &c. 

Her lunyie banes were knags and neuks, 
She had the cleeks, the caulcl, the crooks, 
The jawpish, and the wanton yeuks, 
And the howks aboon her e'e. 

The auld man's mare 's dead, &c. 

My master rade me to the town, 
He tied me to a staincher round, 
He took a chappin till himsel, 
But fient a drap gae me. 

The auld man's mare 's dead, &c. 



THE AULD MAN'S MARE'S DEAD. 113 

The auld man's mare 's dead, 
The poor man's mare 's dead, 
The peats and tnrrs and a' to lead, 
And yet the jade did die ! 

This rich specimen of rustic Scotch humour appears to have 
been the composition of one Patie Birnie, who practised the art 
of a violer at the burgh of Kinghorn in the early part of the last 




Patie Bimie. 



century, and upon whom, in 1721, Allan Ramsay composed a 
humorous elegy, stating many biographical and characteristic 



144 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

particulars. Patie is described as having been at the Battle of 
Bothwell Bridge, probably as one of the militia of his native 
county of Fife ; but, Horace-like, he ran away, and never stopped 
till he came to Edinburgh. He was ready-witted, with a strong 
instinct for the advancement of his professional objects, told a 
story well, and never was at a loss. Hearing of company at the 
inn, Patie would push in with his fiddle, and seldom failed to 
secure a paying auditory. Sometimes a dwarf, named Stocks, 
would dance on a table to the strains of the violer, and the two 
would thus keep up the merriment for the greater part of a 
night. A portrait of Patie, done by Aikman, has been handed 
down, and exhibits a face mingling cleverness, drollery, roguery, 
and impudence in harmonious proportions. As to the author- 
ship of the song, we can only infer it from the language of 
Ramsay, while describing the violer's deportment towards inn 
company : 

Soon his face wad mak you fain, 

When he did sough, 
' O wiltu, wiltu, do 't again,' 

And graned and leuch. 

This sang he made frae his ain head, 
And eke ' The auld man's mare she 's dead, 
And peats and turrs and a' to lead ' — 

O fye upon her ! 
A bonnie auld thing this, indeed, 

An 't like your honour. 

After ilk tune he took a sowp, &c. 



CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 

The favourite air, Gauld Kail in Aberdeen, does not appear in 
any collection before that of Johnson (volume ii, published in 
1788), where it was associated with an erotic effusion of Alexander 
fourth Duke of Gordon. It would appear, however, that the 



CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 



145 



melody took its origin early in the last century, and most 
probably in connection with a rude country ditty, which ran as 
follows : 

Cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Stra'bogie ! 
But yet I fear they '11 cook o'er soon, 
And never warm the cogie. v 



Wow, Aberdeen, what did you mean, 

Sae young a maid to woo, sir ! 
I 'm sure it was nae [joke] to her, 

Whate'er it was to you, sir. &C. 1 

It would appear that these verses relate to some incident in the 
life of the first Earl of Aberdeen, who died in 1720, at the 
age of eighty-three, after being some years a widower. If this 
conjecture be right, the cauld kail of Aberdeen was no mess 
connected with the ancient city, but a metaphorical allusion to 
the faded love-fervours of an aged nobleman, who, spite of years, 
was presuming to pay his addresses to a young lady. 



g=e=fc5 



Is 



&* 



it=B 



mt 



There 's cauld kail in A - ber - deen, And cas - tocks in Stra- 



p^=JME |^ 






bo - gie, "Where il - ka man maun hae his 



But 



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I maun hae my 



co - gie. 



I maun hae my 



m 



+^-?r 



Be 



v 



Sr= 



sa 



co - gie, sirs 



I can - na want my co - gie ; I 



1 The entire song was published in Herd, 1776. 
J 




Bo - gie. 

There 's cauld kail in, Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Strabogie, 
Where ilka man maun hae his lass, 
But I maun hae my cogie. 

I maun hae my cogie, sirs, 
1 canna want my cogie ; 
I wadna gie the three-gir'd cog 
For a' the queans in Bogie. 

There 's Johnie Smith has got a wife, 

Wha scrimps him o' his cogie ; 
If she were mine, upon my life, 

I 'd douk her in a bogie. 

Mr Stenhouse states that this song (which extends to two more 
verses, but of indifferent humour as well as morality) was 
published in Dale's Collection of Songs, before the days of Burns/' 

: 




THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 



The Blythsorne Bridal is an extraordinary picture of humble 
life, as presented in a Scotch village in the seventeenth century. 
Its enumeration of oddly characterised men and women, all with 
appropriate nicknames, is only to be equalled by its list of the 
rough viands and dainties with which they were to be regaled. 
Over all is an air of intense hearty good-humour and love of 
merriment, that leaves us almost bewildered when we think of 
the general sombreness of Scottish rustic life, and in particular 



THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 



147 



the zealous efforts of the clergy, by fines and censures, to prevent 
all dancing and other joyance at weddings. Nothing could prove 
more expressively how much of 'tipsy jest and jollity' there has 
always lurked under the sober exterior of Scottish life, or (to 
change the expression of the idea) how liable our quiet, country- 
men are to strange outbreakings 
extent of recklessness and frolic. 



m 



E^EET 



i r 5i : v-j — j 



Fy let us 



to the brid - al, For 



i^=i^^^ 



there '11 



lilt 



$ 



in' there ; For 



^S 



Jock 's to 



mar - ried to 



ie. The 



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r^v 



±==*=^t 



n i 


lass 


wi' 

^ 1 


the 


gowd 


en 


hair. 


And 


W^r 


-P 




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f 


• m 


i\\ p b 




— 


— h— 


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1 



there '11 be lang - kale and pot - tage, And 



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ban - nocks 



bar 



lev meal ; And 



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t=t- 



fc± 



there '11 be good saut her - rin', To 



feff =£ 



m 



re - lish a cogue o' guid yill. 



148 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Fy let us a' to the "bridal, 

For there '11 be liltin' there ; 
For Jock 's to be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowden hair. 
And there '11 be lang-kale and pottage, 

And bannocks o' barley-meal ; 
And there '11 be good saut herrin', 

To relish a cogue o' guid yill. 
Fy let us a', &c. 

And there '11 be Sandie the souter, 

And Will wi' the mickle mou' ; 
And there '11 be Tarn the plouter, 

And Andrew the tinkler, I trow. 
And there '11 be bow-leggit Robbie, 

Wi' thoomless Katie's guidman ; 
And there '11 be blue-cheekit Dallie, 

And Lawrie, the laird o' the land. 

And there '11 be sow-libber Patie, 

And plookie-faced Wat o' the mill ; 
Capper-nosed Gibbie, and Francie, 

That wins in the howe o' the hill. 
And there '11 be Alaster DougaL 

That splae-fitted Bessie did woo, 
And sniffling Lillie and Tibbie, 

And Kirstie, that belly-god sow ! 

And there '11 be Geordie M'Lowrie, 

And blinkin' daft Barbara and Meg, 
And there '11 be blencht Gillie- Wimple, 

And pewter-faced fleeching Joug. 
And there '11 be happer-hipped Nancie 

And fairy-faced Jeanie by name, 
Gleed Katie and fat-luggit Leesie 

The lass wi' the gowden [kame]. 



THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 149 

And there '11 be Girnagain Gibbie, 

And his glaikit wife Jeanie BeU, 
And mizly-chinned flytin' Geordie, 

The lad that was skipper himsel. 
There '11 be a' the lads and the lasses, 

Set down in the mids o' the ha' ; 
Wi' sybows, and reefarts, and carlins, 

That are baith sodden and raw. 

There '11 be tarten, dragen, and brachen, 

And fonth o' guid gabbocks o' skate, 
Powsoudie, and dram mock, and crowdie, 

And caller nowt-ieet on a plate ; 
And there '11 be partans and buckies, 

And speldins and haddocks enew, 
And singit sheep-heads and a haggis, 

And scadlips to sup till ye 're fou. 

There '11 be guid lapper-milk kebbucks, 

And sowens, and farles, and baps, 
Wi' swats and weel -scraped painches, 

And brandy in stoups and in caups ; 
And there '11 be meal-kail and castocks, 

Wi' skink to sup till ye rive ; 
And roasts to roast on a brander, 

Of flouks that were taken alive. 

Scraped haddocks, wilks, dulse and tangle, 

And a mill o' guid sneeshin' to prie ; 
When weary wi' eatin' and drinkin', 
We '11 rise up and dance till we dee. 
Fy let us a' to the bridal, 

For there'll be liltin' there ; 
For Jock 's to be married to Maggie, 
The lass wi' the gowden hair. 

This singular piece appeared first in Watson's Collection of 



150 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Scottish Poems, 1709, and from thence was transferred into the 
Tea-table Miscellany and Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, as it has 
been into nearly every collection of Scotch songs published since. 
The authorship is to be considered as doubtful. The song used 
to be co mm only ascribed to Francis Sempill of Beltrees, Renfrew- 
shire, who is believed to have written several other popular songs, 
and who flourished during the reign of Charles II., dying not long 
before the year 1685. Sempill was a man of lively talents, a 
keen cavalier or loyalist, even to the persecution of conventiclers, 1 
and in his latter days was reduced by suretyship to a poverty 
befitting his poetical character. "We are to regard him as one of 
a section of society by whom the spirit of mirth and song was 
maintained during those days of seriousness verging upon gloom 
— a protestantism of human nature against the asceticism and 
self-mortification of the puritanic system. It is remarkable that 
his father and grandfather were both poets. His grandson, 
Robert Sempill of Beltrees, who died at Kilbarchan in 1789, at 
the great age of a hundred and two, seems to have been the 
authority for attributing to him the authorship of The Blythsome 
Bridal? 

Of late years a claim for this honour has been put forward by 
Mr Mark Napier 3 on behalf of Sir William Scott of Thirlstain, 
direct male ancestor of the present line of the Lords Napier. It 
rests on a communication from the late Lord Napier to Mr Mark 
Napier, of date 15th December 1831, in the following terms: 
' Sir William Scott was the author of that well-known Scots song, 
Fy, let us d to the bridal, for there HI be liltings there — a better 
thing than Horace ever wrote. My authority was my father, who 
told me he had it from his, and that he had it from his, who was 
Sir William's son.' 

1 In the Privy Council Record, 13th January 1681, is a petition from 
Francis Sempill of Beltrees for reward for his services in putting down 
conventicles. 

2 The Poems of the Sempills of Beltrees, edited by James Paterson, 
Edinburgh, 1 849. 

3 Partition of the Lennox, Edinburgh, 1835, p. 237. 



THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 151 

This claim must be allowed to be not without some support in 

what we know of Sir William Scott from other sources. He was 

one of a group of wits, composed of Archibald Pitcairne, David 

Gregory, Thomas Kincaid, Sir William Bennet of Grubbet, &c, 

who, living at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and 

cultivating the muse, though chiefly in the Lalin language, 

might be said to mark the renaissance of polite literature in 

Scotland after the long night of the religious troubles. A volume 

of their Latin verses, edited by Ruddiman in 1727, shews them 

all to have been intensely Jacobite, and of course confessors in 

the protestantism above alluded to. On Sir William, who died 

on the 8th of October 1725, John Ker, professor of Greek at 

Aberdeen, writes an elegy, in which he speaks of his deceased 

friend as : 

Deliciae novem sororum, 

Et Caledonice decus Camcence ; 

a strong hint that Sir William wrote also in Scots verse. 
Ruddiman adverts to him in highly flattering terms : ' Sir 
William Scott of Thirlstain, illustrious in his birth, more illus- 
trious by his virtues, an excellent counsellor and philologist, 
a judge of all polite letters, and a man to be compared with few 
in regard to integrity of life and suavity and elegance of manners, 
deserves to be ranked in the next place to Pitcairne. He 
composed some very neat and pretty Latin poems, which, as he 
was a man of consummate modesty, he would never shew except 
to a very few friends ; nor would he ever, while in life, permit 
them to see the light by way of publication.' Professor Ker's 
elegy, besides admitting Sir William's learning and sagacity, 
speaks strongly of his convivial temper, his wit, and many agree- 
ablenesses ; impressing us with the idea of a most delightful person, 
notwithstanding an escape of candour on the part of the poet — 

Solebat 
Meas esse aliquid putare nugas. 

One of Sir William's pieces of a macaronic character, exhibits 
a strain of humour that recalls The Blythsome Bridal, and shews 
that he might have been its author. 



152 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



AD E M E M, EQUITEM, M.D. VILLADELPHINUS 1 

FRATER. 

Qualis in terris fabulatur Orpheus 
Natus Irlandis, ubi nulla wivat 
Spidera telam, neque foeda spouttat 

Tsedda venenum ; 
Dura, Clarshoo modulante, saxa, 
Et virossaxo graviores omni, 
Et lacus, et bogs, fluviosque, et altas 

Ducere sylvas. 
Talis Hiberno similis poetse 
Villadelphinus ego, nee secundus, 
Dum mihi possham sonat, aut canoraia 

Dextera trumpam : 
Asinus semper conies est, et anser, 
Yocibus partes modulare promti, 
Porcus in stayo facilique bassum 

Murmure grumphat : 
Per domum dansant tabula3, cathedrae, 
Fistules, furmse, simul atque chistse ; 
Rusticam ducit leviterque dansam 

Armo-cathedra. 
Turn mihi starkam promit anus aillaro, 
Ipsa quam broustrix veterem botello 
Condidit, frater, datus in theatro 

Cum tibi plausus ; 
Tunc mihi notse redeunt Camoense, 
Tunc ego possum atque imitare Sappho, 
Blackere et nigrum bene, winterano 

Cortice riftans : 
Musa Taiguseos mea poetastros, 
Judice vel te, superabit omnes. 
Ipse Pentlandis licet arrivaret 

Flecnus in agris. 

1 Under this mystic appellative lurks a reference to the simple little 
village of Dolphinton, in Lanarkshire. 



SCORNFUL NANCY. 



This is one of the songs of unknown age and authorship which 
appeared in the Tea-table Miscellany and Orpheus Galedonius. 
Its naif dialogue has secured it a- place in every subsequent 
collection. 



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Nan - cy 's to the green - wood gane, To 



hear the gowd-spink chatt'ring ; And Wil - lie he has 



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fol - low'd her, To gain her love by flatt'ring : But, 



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a' that he could say or do, She geck'd and scorned 



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at him ; And, aye when he be 



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bad him mind wha gat him. 



154 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Nancy 's to the greenwood gane, 

To hear the gowdspink chatt'ring ; 
And Willie he has follow' d her, 

To gain her love by flatt'ring : 
But, a' that he could say or do, 

She geck'd and scorned at him ; 
And, aye when he began to woo, 

She bad him mind wha gat him. 

What ails ye at my dad, quoth he, 

My minnie or my auntie ? 
Wi' crowdy-mowdy 1 they fed me, 

Lang-kale and ranty-tanty : 2 
Wi' bannocks o' guid barley-meal, 

Of thae there was richt plenty, 
Wi' chappit stocks fu' butter'd weel, 

And was not that richt dainty ? 

Although my father was nae laird, 

'Tis damn to be vaunty, 
He keepit aye a guid kale-yard, 

A ha' house, and a pantry : 
A guid blue bonnet on his head, 

An owerlay 'bout his craigie ; 3 
And aye, until the day he dee'd, 

He rade on guid shanks-naigie. 4 

Now wae and wonder on your snout, 

Wad ye hae bonnie Nancy ? 
Wad ye compare yoursel to me — 

A docken till a tanzie ? 

1 A. mess composed of milk and meal boiled together. 

2 The broad-leafed sorrel, so called, used to be gathered by our frugal 
ancestresses in spring, and added to the cabbage or kail in the dinner 
broth. 

3 A cravat about his neck. 

4 A jocular way of stating that he used his limbs in moving about. 



SCORNFUL NANCY. 155 

I hae a wooer o' my ain, 

They ca' him Souple Sandy ; 
And weel I wat his bonnie mou' 

Is sweet like sugar-candy. 

Now, Nancy, what need a' this din ? 

Do I no ken this Sandy ? 
I 'm sure the chief o' a' his kin 

Was Kab, the beggar-randy : 
His minnie Meg, upon her back, 

Bare baith him and his billy j 1 
Will ye compare a nasty pack 

To me, your winsome Willie ? 

My gutcher 2 left a guid braidsword : 

Though it be auld and rusty, 
Yet ye may tak it on my word, 

It is baith stout and trusty ; 
And if I can but get it drawn, 

Which will be richt uneasy, 
I shall lay baith my lugs in pawn, 

That he shall get a heezy. 

Then Nancy turn'd her round about, 

And said, Did Sandy hear ye, 
Ye wadna miss to get a clout ; 

I ken he disna fear ye : 
Sae haud your tongue, and say nae mair, 

Set somewhere else your fancy ; 
For as lang 's Sandy 's to the fore, 

Ye never shall get Nancy. 

Brother. 2 Goodsire or grandfather. 



156 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE COCK-LAIRD. 

A cock-laird is a small proprietor. The present song first 
appeared in the Orpheus Caledonius, hut in a rude version, upon 
which some improvements were afterwards made, prohahly by 
Ramsay. The style of the verse somewhat reminds us of Scornful 
Nancy, and also of the song immediately following the present, 
as if it were a production of the same pen. 



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hawsed, he kiss'd her, And ca'd her his sweet. Wilt 



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tliou gang a - lang wi' me Jen - nie, Jen - nie ? Thou'se 



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be my ain lem - an - jo, Jen - nie, quo' he. 

A cock-laird, fou cadgie, 

Wi' Jennie did meet ; 
He hawsed, he kiss'd her, 

And ca'd her his sweet. 
Wilt thou gang alang wi' me, 

Jennie, Jennie ? 
Thou'se be my ain leman-jo, 

Jennie, quo' he. 



THE COCK-LAIRD. 157 

Gin I gae alang wi' thee, 

Ye maunna fail 
To feast me wi' caddels 

And guid hackit kail. 
What needs a' this vanity, 

Jennie 1 quo' he ; 
Is na bannocks and dribly-beards 1 

Guid meat for thee ? 

Gin I gang alang wi' you, 

I maun hae a silk hood, 
A kirtle-sark, wyliecoat, 

And a silk snood, 
To tie up my hair in 

A cockernonie. 
Hout awa', thou 'se gane wud, I trow, 

Jennie ! quo' he. 

Gin ye 'd hae me look bonnie, 

And shine like the moon, 
I maun hae katlets and patlets, 

And cam'rel-heel'd shoon ; 
Wi' craig-claiths and lug-babs, 2 

And rings twa or three. 
Hout, the deil 's in your vanity, 

Jennie ! quo' he. 

And I maun hae pinners, 

With pearlins set roun', 
A skirt o' the paudy, 3 

And a waistcoat o' brown. 
Awa' wi' sic vanities, 

Jennie, quo' he, 
For curches and kirtles 

Are fitter for thee. 

1 Cabbage, which beslabber the beard. 

2 Cloths for the throat, and rings for the ears. 

3 Probably paduasoy. 



15S SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

My lairdship can yield me 

As muckle a year, 
As haud us in pottage 

And guid knockit bear ; 
But, havin' nae tenants, 

Oh, Jennie, Jennie, 
To buy ought I ne'er have 

A penny, quo' he. 

The borrowstown merchants 
Will sell ye on tick ; 

For we maun hae braw things, 
Although they should break 

When broken, frae care 
The fools are set free, 

When we mak them lairds 
she. 2 



MY JO JANET. 

This clever song appears in the Tea-table Miscellany (1724), 
but is probably somewhat older. From the allusion to the 
Bass, which we must presume to be the Bass of Inverury — a 
noted hillock near that little burgh — and to Aberdeen, one 
might justifiably suppose it to have sprung up in that province, 
even were there not the pronunciation of ' sheen' for ' shoon' to 
substantiate the conjecture. As an expression of Scottish 
economic and moral philosophy — the "saving of all avoid- 
able expenses, and the taking down of youthful vanity and 

1 That is, oblige them, on account of their debts, to take advantage of 
the sanctuary at Holyrood. 

2 The version here given of The Cock-Laird is partly from the Orpheus 
Caledonius (1733) and partly from a more recent copy. 



MY JO JANET. 



150 



extravagance — the piece is beyond all praise. It is also to 
be remarked, that the language is choice and the versification 
perfect — implying an educated mind in the unknown author. 

The air is of considerably greater age than the modern song, 
being identical with one called Long or ony Old Man, which 
appears in the Skene Manuscript, circa 1630. 



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Sweet sir, for your courtesie, When ye come by the 



then. 



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For the love ye bear to me, Buy me a keek - in' glass, then. 



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Keek in 



the draw well, Jan 



Jan - et. 



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There ye '11 see your bon - nie sel, My jo Jan - et. 

Sweet sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye come by the Bass, then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 
Buy me a keekin'-glass, then. 1 
Keek into the draw-well, 

Janet, Janet, 
There ye '11 see your bonnie sel, 
My jo Janet. 

1 A mirror was formerly a rare luxury in rural Scotland. ' In the 
but-the-house or kitchen there was no allowed looking-glass; but the 
servant-lasses had a substitute for it, in a full pail of water brought to 
the light in a clear day, in which the reflection was as distinct as in any 
mirror. They sometimes had a small Dutch keeking-glass, about the size 
of a playing-card, concealed in their chests, at which they took a stolen 
glance before going to church.' — Eobertson's Mural Recollections, 1829. 



160 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Keekin' in the draw-well clear, 

What if I fa' in, sir, 
Then a' my kin will say and swear, 
I drowned mysel for sin, sir. 

Haud the better by the brae, 

Janet, Janet, 
Haud the better by the brae, 
My jo Janet. 

Guid sir, for your courtesie, 

Comin' through Aberdeen, then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 
Buy me a pair o' sheen, then. 

Clout the auld, the new are dear, 

Janet, Janet ; 
Ae pair may gain ye half a year, 
My jo Janet. 

But, if, dancin' on the green, 

And skippin' like a maukin, 
They should see my clouted sheen, 
Of me they will be talkin'. 

Dance aye laigh and late at e'en, 

Janet, Janet. 
Syne their fauts will no be seen, 
My jo Janet. 

Kind sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye gae to the Cross, then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 
Buy me a pacin' horse, then. 

Pace upon your spinnin' -wheel, 

Janet, Janet, 
Pace upon your spinnin' -wheel, 
My jo Janet. 



MY JO JANET. 161 

My spinnin' -wheel is auld and stiff, 

The rock o't winna stand, sir ; 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff, 
Employs richt aft my hand, sir. 
Mak the best o't that ye can, 

Janet, Janet, 
Mak the best o't that ye can, 
My jo Janet. 

In the Oxford Collection (British Museum) there is a broadside 
of apparently the time of William III., entitled Jenny, Jenny, or 
the False-liearted Knight, which recites an affair of rustic gallantry, 
in the usual style, and then represents the lady as putting a series 
of requests to her lover, all of which are churlishly refused. The 
dialogue proceeds in the following strain : 

***** 
May 't please your kind courtesie, 

To gang under yonders town, 
May 't please your kind courtesie, 
To buy me a silken gown. 

Mend the old one for a new, quoth he, 

Jenny, Jenny, 
Mend the old for a new, quoth he, 
Jenny, Jenny. 

May 't please you of kind courtesie, 

To gang into yonder fare [fair], 
May 't please your kind courtesie, 
To buy me an ambling mare. 

Ride upon thy spinning-wheel, quoth ho, 
Jenny, Jenny, &c. 

I pray you will not angry be 

Whilst I beg one small boon, 
May 't please your kind courtesie 
To buy me a pair o' shoon. 

Let [thy next lover] shoe thee, quoth he, 

Jenny, Jenny, 
For thou shalt ne'er be shod by me, 
Jenny, Jenny. 



162 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Once more I beg your kind courtesie, 

To gang to yonders teek, 

And there do so much for me, 

As buy me a seeing kit. 

Kit even in the well, quoth he, 

Jenny, Jenny, 
For there thy beauty thou may'st see, 
Jenny, Jenny. 

Either this is an English original of My Jo Janet, or a corrupt 
English version of an original Scottish My Jo Janet From the 
evident misunderstanding of the keeking-glass in the last verse 
quoted, one might be justified in believing the latter to be the 
case. If so, the Scottish original was probably a rude ballad of 
the seventeenth century, from which some poet of compara- 
tively cultivated taste had drawn the clever dialogue as we 
now find it. 



ANDRO AND HIS CUTTY GUN. 

Ramsay printed this song in his Tea-table Miscellany, with 
some alterations by himself. From its own merits, and those 
.of its lively air, it has always been a great favourite in Scot- 
land, especially as a song for rustic bridal-parties and 'house- 
heatings.' Burns had a great relish for it, calling it ' a spirited 
picture of a country ale-house, touched off with all the lightsome 
gaiety so peculiar to the rural muse of Caledonia.' • Adverting 
to it afterwards in a letter to Mr George Thomson, he says : 
' Andro and his Gutty Gun is the work of a master. By the way, 
are you not quite vexed to think that those men of genius, for 
such they were, who composed our fine Scotch lyrics, should 
be unknown ? It has given me many a .heart-ache.' 



ANDRO AND HIS CUTTY GUN. 



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Blithe, blithe and mer - ry was she. Blithe was she 



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but and ben; Weel she loo'd a Haw - ick gill, And 



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tap - pit hen. She took me in, 



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set me doun, And hecht to keep me law - in' free; But, 



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cun - ning car - line that she was, She gart me birle my 



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baw - bee. 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 

Blithe was she but and ben ; 
Weel she loo'd a Hawick gill, 1 
And leuch to see a tappit-hen. 2 
She took me in, she set me doun, 

And hecht to keep me lawin'-free ; 
But, cunning carline that she was, 
She gart me birle my bawbee. 
Blithe, blithe, &c. 

1 A Hawick gill, for some unexplained reason, is half-a-mutchkin. 

2 A tappit-hen implies a quart-measure, the term being applied from 
the resemblance of the knob on the top of the measure to a crested fowL 



164 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

We loo'd the liquor weel eneuch ; 

But, wae 's my heart, my cash was done, 
Before that I had quench' d my drouth, 

And laith was I to pawn my shoon. 
When we had three times toom'd our stoup, 

And the neist chappin new begun, 
In startit, to heeze up our hope, 

Young Andro wi' his cutty gun. 1 

The carline brought her kebbuck ben, 

Wi' girdle-cakes weel-toasted brown ; 2 
Weel does the canny kimmer ken, 

They gar the scuds gae glibber doun. 
We ca'd the bicker aft about, 

[Nor stirred until we saw the sun,] 
And aye the cleanest drinker out 

Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. 

He did like ony mavis sing ; 

And, as I in his oxter sat, 
He ca'd me aye his bonnie thing, 

And mony a sappy kiss I gat. 
I hae been east, I hae been west, 

I hae been far ayont the sun ; 
But the blithest lad that e'er I saw, 

Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. 

1 €utty gun, a short fowling-piece. 

2 ' These oatmeal cakes are kneaded out with the knuckles, and toasted 
over the red embers of wood on a gridiron. They are remarkably fine, 
and a delicate relish when eaten warm with ale. On winter nights the 
landlady heats them, and drops them into the quaigh to warm the ale.' 
—Burns. 



WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG. 

All that is known with, certainty of the history ofHhis song, 
is that it was published in the Tea-table Miscellany, with the 
initials W. W., and reproduced with its lively air in the Orpheus 
Caledonius. As a picture of life-enjoying youth and high animal 
spirits, it is unsurpassed. There has been a debate about the 
authorship. It has been set forth, but upon no good authority, 
that W. W. was William Walkingshaw of that Ilk in Renfrew- 
shire, and Burns had the words ' by Mr Walkingshaw ' inserted 
in the index of Johnson's Museum. It appears that there was 
no William in the family. Mr David Laing expresses his inclin- 
ation to believe, that by ' W. W.' was meant ' Wanton Willie,' 
a well-known sobriquet of Lieutenant William Hamilton of 
Gilbertfield, a friend and correspondent of Allan Ramsay, and 
who was a copious writer of Scottish verse, though no collection 
of his poems was ever made. Hamilton died at an advanced 
age in May 1751. 

It will probably appear to most readers a justifiable conjecture, 
that whoever wrote Willie was a Wanton Wag, wrote Andro and 
his Cutty Gun also, if not several other songs giving humorous 
portraitures of familiar Scottish life, some of which follow. 



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blith - est lad that 



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brid - als still he bore the brag, And 




the lass - es best of a'. 



Willie was a wanton wag, 

The blithest lad that e'er I saw : 
At "bridals still he bore the brag, 

And carried aye the gree awa'. 
His doublet was of Zetland shag, 

And wow but Willie he was braw ; 
And at his shouthers hung a tag 

That pleased the lasses best of a'. 

He was a man without a clag ; 

His heart was frank, without a flaw ; 
And aye whatever Willie said, 

It still was hadden as a law. 
His boots they were made of the jag, 

When he went to the weapon-shaw ; 
Upon the green nane durst him brag, 

The fient a ane amang them a'. 



WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG. 167 

And was not Willie weel worth gowd ? 

He wan the love o' grit and snia' ; 
For, after he the bride had kiss'd, 

He kiss'd the lasses haill-sale a'. 
Sae merrily round the ring they row'd, - 

When by the hand he led them a' ; 
And smack on smack on them bestow' d, 

By virtue of a standing law. 

And was na Willie a great loun, 

As shyre a lick as e'er was seen ? 
When he danced with the lasses round, 

The bridegroom spier'd where he had been. 
Quoth Willie, I 've been at the ring ; 

Wi' bobbin', faith, my shanks are sair ; 
Gae ca' the bride and maidens in, 

For Willie he dow do na mair. 

Then rest ye, Willie, I '11 gae out, 

And for a wee fill up the ring ; 
But shame licht on his souple snout ! 

He wanted Willie's wanton fling. 
Then straight he to the bride did fare, 

Says weel 's me on your bonnie face ! 
With bobbin' Willie's shanks are sair, 

And I am come to fill his place. 

Bridegroom, says she, you '11 spoil the dance, 

And at the ring you '11 aye be lag, 
Unless like Willie ye advance ; 

Oh, Willie has a wanton leg ! 
For wi' 't he learns us a' to steer, 

And foremost aye bears up the ring ; 
We will find nae sic dancin' here, 

If we want Willie's wanton fling. 



168 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



MUIRLAND WILLIE. 

This admirable description of rustic courtship appeared in the 
Tea-table Miscellany and Orpheus Caledonius, and has never been 
omitted from any subsequent collection of Scottish songs. The 
air, which, Mr Stenhouse tells us, is in a collection of 1 709 by 
Mrs Crockat in his possession, is the basis of a popular modern 
air styled My Boy Tammie. 



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la fa lal la fa lal lal. 



MUIRLAND WILLIE. 169 

Hearken, and I will tell you how 
Young Muirland Willie cam to woo, 
Though he could neither say nor do ; 

The truth I tell to you. 
But aye he cries, Whate'er betide, 
Maggie I 'se hae to be my bride. 

With a falj dal, &c. 

On his gray yaud as he did ride, 
With durk and pistol by his side, 
He prick'd her on with mickle pride, 

With mickle mirth and glee j 1 
Out ower yon moss, out ower yon muir, 
Till he came to her daddie's door. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

Guidman, quoth he, be ye within ? 

I 'm come your douchter's luve to win : 

I carena for makin' muckle din ; 

What answer gie you me ? — 
Now, wooer, quoth he, wad ye licht down, 
I '11 gie ye my douchter's luve to win. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

Now, wooer, sin ye are lichtit down, 
Where do ye win, or in what toun 1 
I think my douchter winna gloom 

On sic a lad as ye. 
The wooer he steppit up the house, 
And wow but he was wondrous crouse ! 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

1 ' This lightsome ballad gives a particular drawing of those ruthless 
times when thieves were rife, and the lads went a-wooing in their war- 
like habiliments, not knowing whether they would tilt with lips or 
lances. Willie's dirk and pistols were buckled on for this uncertain 
encounter, and not for garnishing and adorning his person.' — Burns. 



170 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

I hae three owsen in a pleuch, 

Twa guid gaun yauds, 1 and gear enench — 

The place they ca' it Cadenengh ; 2 

I scorn to tell a lie : 
Besides I haud, frae the great laird, 
A peat-spot and a lang-kale yard. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

The maid put on her kirtle broun ; 
It was the "brawest in a' the toun ; 
I wat on him she did na gloom, 

But blinkit bonnilie. 
The lover he stendit up in haste, 
And grippit her hard about the waist. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

To win your love, maid, I 'm come here ; 
I 'm young, and hae eneuch o' gear ; 
And for mysel ye needna fear, 

Troth, try me when ye like. 
He took aff his bannet, and spat in his chew, 
He dichtit his gab, and he pried her mou'. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

The maiden blush'd and beingit fu' law : 
She hadna will to say him na ; 
But to her daddie she left it a', 

As they twa could agree. 
The luver he gave her the tither kiss, 
Syne ran to her daddie and tellt him this. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

1 Work-horses. 

2 That is, Coldenough, indicating an elevated and exposed situation. 
There are many similar names of places in Scotland, as Caldcots, Dead- 
for-cald, &c. 



MUIRLAND WILLIE. 171 

Your douchter wadna say me na, 
But to yoursel she has left it a', 
As we could 'gree between us twa — 

Say what will ye gie me wi' her ? 
Now, wooer, quoth he, I hae na mickle, 
But sic as I hae ye 'se get a pickle. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 
A kilnfu' o' corn I '11 gie to thee, 
Three soums o' sheep, twa guid milk kye ; 
Ye 'se hae the waddin'-dinner free ; 

Troth, I dow do nae mair. 
Content, quoth Willie, a bargain be 't ; 
I 'm far frae hame ; make haste, let 's do 't. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 

The bridal-day it came to pass, 

With mony a blithesome lad and lass ; 

But siccan a day there never was, 

Sic mirth was never seen. 
This winsome couple straikit hands ; 
Mess John tied up the marriage-bands. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 
And our bride's maidens were na few, 
Wi' tap-knots, lug-knots, a' in blue ; 
Frae tap to tae they were bran new, 

And blinkit bonnilie. 
Their toys and mutches were sae clean, 
They glanced in our lads's een. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 
Sic hirdum-dirdum, and sic din, 
Wi' he ower her, and she ower him ; 
The minstrels they did never blin', 

Wi' mickle mirth and glee ; 
And aye they bobbit, and aye they beck't, 
And aye they reel'd, and aye they set. 

With a fal, dal, &c. 



172 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



MAGGIE LAUDER. 

This very clever song, which first appeared in Herd's 
Collection, is usually attributed to Francis Sempill of Beltrees, 
Renfrewshire, who lived and flourished in the middle of the 
seventeenth century, and died about 1685. The only authority 
for the statement is the allegation of Sempill's grandchildren, 
which, however, was equally confident in the case of She rose and 
loot me in, a song now proved to have been by D'Urfey. All 
that we really know with confidence is, that there was an air 
called Moggy Lauther or Moggie Lauder in vogue in England 
about the beginning of the reign of George II. ; that this is 
introduced in the opera of the Beggar's Wedding, second edition, 
1 729, but under the title of Moggy Lauther on a Day, 1 implying 
a different song from the present ; and that the song now so 
familiar nowhere appears before Herd's Collection. The style of 
verse, so free and facile, certainly bears little resemblance to any 
specimens of the muse of Sempill which are not open to dispute. 
It much more clearly recalls that of Willie was a Wanton Wag, 
and Muirland Willie. 



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to Fife, And 



Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time, p. 620, note. 




name is Mag - gie Lau - der. 
Wha wadna be in love 



A piper met her gaun to Fife, 

And spier'd what was 't they ca'd her : 

Richt scornfully she answer'd him, 
Begone, you hallanshaker ! x 

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate ! 2 
My name is Maggie Lauder. 

1 ' Hallanshaker is what the old people call a rambling mischievous 
fellow; one who sods up the burns, ties the doors, and works other 
pranks of innocent merriment. The Jiallan is a bundle composed of the 
longest broom, entwisted with willows, placed movable to ward the wind 
from the door. The partition which divided the spence from the hall 
was frequently named "the Hallan," being formed of similar materials.' 
— Cromek. "We are to presume, from this explanation, that one of the 
pranks of the practical joker in question was to steal in and alarm the 
evening fireside circle by shaking the hallan. 

2 ' Bladderskate ought to be Blether-sky te. " Ye bletherin' loon," " Ye 



174 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Maggie ! quoth he ; and, by my bags, 

I 'm fidgin' fain to see thee ! 
Sit doun by me, my bonnie bird ; 

In troth I winna steer thee ; 
For I 'm a piper to my trade ; 

My name is Rob the Ranter : 
The lasses loup as they were daft, 

When I blaw up my chanter. 

Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags, 

Or is your drone in order ? 
If ye be Rob, I Ve heard o' you ; 

Live you upo' the Border ? 
The lasses a', baith far and near, 

Have heard o' Rob the Ranter ; 
I '11 shake my foot wi' richt guid will, 

Gif ye '11 blaw up your chanter. 

Then to his bags he flew wi' speed ; 

About the drone he twisted : 
Meg up and wallop'd ower the green ; 

For brawly could she frisk it ! 
Weel done ! quo' he. Play up ! quo' she. 

Weel bobb'd ! quo' Rob the Ranter ; 
It 's worth my while to play, indeed, 

When I hae sic a dancer ! 

Weel hae ye play'd your part ! quo' Meg ; 

Your cheeks are like the crimson ! 
There 's nane in Scotland plays sae weel, 

Sin' we lost Habbie Simpson. 1 

vile skyte," are terms of familiar reproach still in use, and are innocently- 
applied to those satiric rogues who have the art of mingling falsehood 
with truth with admirable art, annoying with it the sage remarks of the 
sober-minded and wise.' — Cromek. 

1 A celebrated piper at Kilbarchan, Renfrewshire, whose memory and 
merits are preserved in an elegy by Robert Sempill. He flourished about 
the middle of the seventeenth century. 



THE GABERLUNYIE MAN. 



175 



I 've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife, 
This ten years and a quarter ; 

Gin ye should come to Anster Fair, 
Spier ye for Maggie Lauder. 



THE GABERLUNYIE MAN. 



We owe the preservation of this capital old song to the Tea- 
table Miscellany, where it appears with the signature J. It 
has for many years been usually ascribed to King James V., 
but upon no authority, and apparently for no other reason 
but that it relates such a rustic adventure as the fifth James 
is said to have been addicted to, when he went about in 
disguise to make himself acquainted with his subjects. In 
reality, there is not the faintest assimilation of the style of this 
song to the manner of any of the ' makkers ' of the early part of 
the sixteenth century. Had it been published as a composition 
of the same pen as Muirland Willie, no one would have been 
surprised. 

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176 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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doun a - yont the ingle he sat ; My douchter's shouthers he 



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'gan to clap, And cad - gi - ly rant - ed and sang. 

The pawky auld carle cam ower the lee, 
Wi' mony guid-e'ens and days to me, 
Saying, Guidwife, for your courtesie, 

Will ye lodge a silly puir man ? 
The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat, 
And donn ayont the ingle he sat ; 
My douchter's shouthers he 'gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

0, wow ! quo' he, were I as free 
As first when I saw this countrie, 
How blithe and merry wad I be, 

And I wad never think lang ! 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld minnie ken 
What thir slee twa together were sayin', 

When wooing they were sae thrang. 

And ! quo' he, an ye were as black 
As e'er the croun o' my daddie's hat, 
It 's I wad lay ye by my back, 

And awa' wi' me ye should gang. 
And ! quo' she, an I were as white 
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 
I 'd cleid me braw and lady-like, 

And awa' wi' thee I 'd gang. 



THE GABERLUNYIE MAN. 177 

Between the twa was made a plot ; 
They rase a wee afore the cock, 
And wylily they shot the lock, 

And fast to the bent are they gane. 
Up i' the morn the auld wife rase, 
And at her leisure put on her claise ; 
Syne to the servants' bed she gaes, 

To spier for the silly puir man. 



She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay ; 
The strae was cauld — he was away ; 
She clapped her hands, cried, Waladay ! 

For some o' our gear will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist ; 
But nocht was stown that could be mist. 
She danced her lane, cried, Praise be blest, 

I have lodged a leal puir man ! 

Since naething 's awa', as we can learn, 
The kirn's to kirn, and milk to yirne ; 
Gae butt the house, and wauken my bairn, 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the dauchter lay : 
The sheets were cauld — she was away, 
And fast to her guidwife 'gan say, 

She 's aff wi' the gaberlunyie man ! 

Oh, fye gar ride, and fye gar rin, 
And haste ye find thae traitors again ; 
For she 's be burnt, and he 's be slain, 

The wearifu' gaberlunyie man ! 
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a-fit, 
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit ; 
She couldna gang, nor yet could she sit, 

But aye she cursed and she bann'd. 



178 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Meantime, far hind out ower the lee, 
Fu' snug in a glen, where nane could see, 
The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 
The prievin' was guid — it pleased them baith ; 
To lo'e her for aye he gae her his aith ; 
Quo' she, To leave thee I will be laith, 

My winsome gaberlunyie man. 

O, tend my minnie I were wi' you, 
Ill-faurdly wad she crook her mou' ; 
Sic a puir man she '11 never trow, 

After the gaberlunyie man. 
My dear, quo' he, ye 're yet ower young, 
And ha'na learn'd the beggars' tongue, 
To follow me frae toun to toun, 

And carry the gaberlunyie on. 

Wi' cauk and keel I '11 win your bread, 

And spinles and whorles for them wha need ; 

Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, 

To carry the gaberlunyie on. 
I '11 bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
And draw a black clout ower my e'e ; 
A cripple and blind they will ca' me, 

While we '11 be merry and sing. 

The Gaberhmyie, and the eight preceding songs, have some 
common characters deserving of attention. They are all clever 
compositions, verifying themselves as the product, not of rustic, 
but of cultivated minds. They display humour both of a rough 
and hearty, and of* a sly kind. They have all come before the 
world anonymously, and for the most part can be traced to the 
early part of the eighteenth century — the epoch just preceding 
that of Eamsay. Being greatly superior to Ramsay's poetry, it is 
the more remarkable that there should be no trace of the authors, 



THE HUMBLE BEGGAR. 



179 



or, shall we say, author, for it is not impossible that they have all 
come from one source — an earlier Burns, who has chosen to 
remain for ever unknown. 



THE HUMBLE BEGGAR. 



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raux his wame, 



In Scotland there lived a humble beggar ; 

He had neither house, nor hauld, nor hame ; 
But he was weel liked by ilka body, 

And they gae him sunkets to raux his wame. 
A neivefou o' meal, a handfou o' groats, 

A daud o' a bannock, or pudding-bree, 
Cauld parridge, or the lickings of plates, 

Wad make him as blithe as a bodie could be. 



180 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

A humbler bodie, 0, never brake bread, 

For the fient a bit o' pride had he ; 
He wad hae ta'en his alms in a bicker, 

Frae gentle, or semple, or poor bodie. 
His wallets afore and ahint did hing, 

In as good order as wallets could be. 
A lang-kale goolie hung down by his side, 

And a muckle nowte-horn to rout on had he. 

It happen'd ill, and it happen'd warse, 

For it happen'd sae that he did die ; 
And wha wad ye think were at his lyke-wauk, 

But lads and lasses of high degree. 
Some were merry, and some were sad, 

And some were as blithe as blithe could be ; 
When up he started, the gruesome carle — 

I rede ye, good folks, beware o' me ! 

Out scraich'd Kate, who sat in the nook, 

Vow, now, kimmer ! and how do ye 1 
He ca'd her waur than witch and limmer, 

And ruggit and tuggit her cockernonie. 
They howkit his grave in Douket's kirkyard, 

Twa ell deep — for I gaed to see — 
But when they were gaun to put him in the yird. 

The fient a dead nor dead was he. 



They brought him down to Douket's kirkyard ; 

He gae a dunt, and the boords did flee ; 
And when they gaed to lay him in the grave, 

In fell the coffin, and out lap he ! 
He cried, I 'm cauld ! I 'm unco cauld ! 

Fu' fast ran they, and fu' fast ran he ; 
But he was first hame at his ain ingle-side, 

And he help'd to drink his ain dreclgie. 



O, AN YE WERE DEAD, GUIDMAN. 



181 



The Humble Beggar appeared first in Herd, and its rich 
humour and forcible expression have secured it a place in all 
subsequent collections. 



O, AN YE WERE DEAD, GUIDMAN. 



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0, an ye were dead, guid-man, &c. 



0, an ye were dead, guidman, 
0, an ye were dead, guidman, 
That I might wair my widowheid 
Upon a ranting Highlandman. 



182 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



There 's six eggs in the pan, guidman, 
There 's six eggs in the pan, guidman ; 
There 's ane to you, and twa to me, 
And three to our John Highlandman. 

There 's beef into the pot, guidman, 
There 's beef into the pot, guidman ; 
The banes to you, the broe to me, 
And the beef for our John Highlandman. 

There 's sax horse in the sta', guidman, 
There 's sax horse in the sta', guidman ; 
There 'a ane to you, and twa to me, 
And three to our John Highlandman. 

There 's sax kye in the byre, guidman, 

There 's sax kye in the byre, guidman ; 

There 's nane o' them yours, but twa o' them mine, 

And the lave is our John Highlandman's. 

This is one of the old fireside traditionary songs of Scotland, 
embodying a reckless humour defiant of session and presbytery, 
and shewing what was in the heart of the nation under all 
external appearances. It does not, however, appear in any 
collectioi) before Johnson. It was a favourite with Thomas 
Campbell, who used to sing it with much unction and good 
effect. 



THE BRISK YOUNG LAD. 



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daddie's door, my daddie's door; There cam a young man to my 



THE BRISK YOUNG LAD. 



183 



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daddie's door, Cam seek - ing me to 



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braw young lad, Cam seek - ing me to a 

There cam a young man to my daddie's door, 
My daddie's door, my daddie's door ; 
There cam a young man to my daddie's door, 
Cam seeking me to woo. 

And wow ! but he was a braw young lad, 
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad ; 
And wow ! but he was a braw young lad, 
Cam seeking me to woo. 

But I was baking when he came, 
When he came, when he came ; 
I took him in and gied him a scone, 
To thowe his frozen mou. 



I set him in aside the bink ; 
I ga'e him bread and ale to drink ; 
And ne'er a blithe styme wad he blink, 
Until his wame was fou. 



134 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Gae, get you gone, you cauldrife wooer, 
Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer, 
I straightway shewed him to the door, 
Saying, Come nae mair to woo. 

There lay a deuk-dub before the door, 
Before the door, before the door ; 
There lay a deuk-dub before the door, 
And there fell he, I trow. 

Out cam the guidman and high he shouted, 
Out cam the guidwife and laigh she lootit, 
And a' the town neighbours were gathered about it, 
And there lay he, I trow ! 

Then out cam I, and sneered and smiled, 
Ye cam to woo, but ye 're a' beguiled, 
Ye 're faun i' the dirt, and ye 're a' befyled, 
We '11 hae nae mair o' you ! 

For the above song, which hrst appeared in Herd's Collection, 
no author has ever been assigned. 



OUR GUIDMAN CAM HAME AT E'EN. 



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Oh, how cam this horse here? And 



OUR GUIDMAN CAM HAME AT E'EN. 



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how can this be ? And how cam this horse here, With- 

Ad lib. May be spoken. 



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out the leave o' me? Ahorse! quo' she! Ay, a horse, quo' he. 



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0, our guidmaii cam hame at e'en, 

And hame cam lie ; 
And there he saw a riding-horse, 

Where nae horse should be. 



186 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Oh, how cam this horse here ? 

How can this be ? 
How cam this horse here, 
Without the leave o' me ? 
A horse ! quo' she ! 
Ay, a horse, quo' he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, 
And blinder mat ye be ! 
It 's but a bonnie milk-cow, 
My mither sent to me. 
A milk-cow ! quo' he ; 
Ay, a milk-cow, quo' she. 
Weel, far hae I ridden, 

And muckle hae I seen ; 
But a saddle on a milk-cow 
Saw I never nane. 

Our guidman cam hame at e'en, 

And hame cam he ; 
He spied a pair o' jack-boots, 

Where nae boots should be. 
What 's this now, guidwife ? 

What 's this I see ? 
How cam thae boots here, 

Without the leave o' me ? 
Boots ! quo' she ; 
Ay, boots, quo' he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, 

And blinder mat ye be ! 
It 's but a pair o' water-stoups, 

The cooper sent to me. 
Water-stoups ! quo' he ; 
Ay, water-stoups, quo' she. 
Weel, far hae I ridden, 

And muckle hae I seen ; 
But siller-spurs on water-stoups 

Saw I never nane. 



OUR GUIDMAN CAM HAME AT E'EN. 1S7 

Our guidman cam liame at e'en, 

And hame cam he ; 
And there he saw a siller sword, 

Where nae sword should be. 
What 's this now, guidwife ? 

What 's this I see ? 
how cam this sword here, 

Without the leave o' me ? 
A sword ! quo' she ; 
Ay, a sword, quo' he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, 

And blinder mat ye be ! 
It 's but a parridge-spurtle, 

My minnie sent to me. 

A parridge-spurtle ! quo' he ; 
Ay, a parridge-spurtle, quo' she. 
Weel, far hae I ridden, 

And muekle hae I seen ; 
But siller-handed parridge-spurtles 

Saw I never nane. 

Our guidman cam hame at e'en, 

And hame cam he ; 
And there he spied a mickle wig, 

Where nae wig should be. 
What's this now, guidwife ? 

What 's this I see 1 
How cam this wig here, 
Without the leave o' me ? 
A wig ! quo' she ; 
Ay, a wig, quo' he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, 
And blinder mat ye be ! 
'Tis naething but a clocken-hen 
My minnie sent to me. 
A clocken-hen ! quo' he ; 
Ay, a clocken-hen, quo' she. 



188 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Weel, far hae I ridden, 
And mnckle hae I seen, 

But pouther on a clocken-hen 
Saw I never nane. 



Our guidman cam hame at e'en, 

And hame cam he ; 
And there he saw a big coat, 

Where nae coat should be. 
How cam this coat here 1 

How can this be 1 
How cam this coat here, 

Without the leave o' me ? 
A coat ! quo' she ; 
Ay, a coat, quo' he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, 

And blinder mat ye be ! 
It 's but a pair o' blankets 

My minnie sent to me. 
Blankets ! quo' he ; 
Ay, blankets, quo' she. 
Weel, far hae I ridden, 

And muckle hae I seen : 
But buttons upon blankets 

Saw I never nane ! 

Ben gaed our guidman, 

And ben gaed he ; 
And there he spied a sturdy man 

Where nae man should be. 
How cam this man here ? 

How can this be ? 
How cam this man here, 

Without the leave o' me l 
A man ! quo' she ; 
Ay, a man quo' he. 



OUR GUIDMAN CAM HAME AT E'EN. 189 

Puir blind body, 

And blinder mat you be ! 
It 's but a new milk-maid 

My mither sent to me. 
A maid ! quo' lie ; 
Ay, a maid, quo' she. 
Weel, far hae I ridden, 

And muckle hae I seen, 
But lang-bearded milk-maids 

Saw I never nane. 

Modern singers modify the last verse as follows : 

A man ! quo' she ; 
Ay, a man, quo' he. 
Oh, hooly, hooly, our guidman, 

And dinna angered be — 
It 's but our cousin Macintosh, 
Come frae the north countrie ! 
Our cousin Macintosh ! quo' he ; 
Ay, our cousin Macintosh, quo' she. 
Ye '11 hae us a' hanged, guidwif e, 

And that '11 be to see ; 
Ye 're hiding rebels in the house, 
Without the leave o' me. 

This capital piece of humour appeared first in Herd's Collection. 
The air was given in Johnson's Musical Museum. It bears all 
the marks of a pure Scottish authorship ; yet a song on the same 
set of ideas has long been known in England. Mr J. H. Dixon 
gives a copy from Yorkshire, beginning : 

O, I went into the stable, and there for to see, 
And there I saw three horses stand by one, by two, and by three ; 
O, I called to my loving wife, and, Anon, kind sir, quoth she ; 
O, what do these three horses here, without the leave o' me ? 
Why, you old fool, blind fool, can't you very well see, 
These are three milking cows my mother sent to me ! 
Odds bobs, well done I, milking cows with saddles on ! 
The like was never known ! 



190 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



There is a copy of this English version of the tale in the 
Roxburghe Collection, and therefore probably not later than 
the seventeenth century. 



GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. 

The little comic difficulties of matrimonial life have long been 
favourite subjects with the Scottish muse ; for example, Talc 
your Auld Cloak about Ye, Ever Alake my Auld Guidman, and 
others in this collection. In the present instance, the humour 
takes a practical turn, with irresistible effect. The piece, of 
the authorship of which not the faintest trace survives, appeared 
in Herd's Collection, and the air was given by Johnson. It is 
not unworthy of notice that the favourite after-piece of No Song, 
No Supper, contains a scene founded on this song. 




It fell 



bout the Martin - mas time, And a 



I 



E5E 



gay time it was than, 0, That our guid - wife had 

3 



g^pBi^j ^i p 



^ 



puddins to mak, And she boil'd t&em in the pan, 0. 



It fell about the Martinmas time, 
And a gay time it was than, 0, 

That our guidwife had puddins to mak, 
And she boil'd them in the pan, 0. 



GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. 191 

The wind blew cauld frae south to north, 

It blew into the floor, O ; 
Says our guidman to our guidwife, 

Get up and bar the door, 0. 

My hand is in my hussyfe-skep, 

Guidman, as ye may see, O ; 
An it shouldna be barr'd this hunner year, 

It 's no be barr'd for me, 0. 

They made a paction 'tween them twa, 

They made it firm and sure, 0, 
The first that spak the foremost word 

Should rise and bar the door, 0. 

Then by there came twa gentlemen, 

At twelve o'clock at nicht, ; 
And they could neither see house nor ha', 

Nor coal nor candle-licht, 0. 

Now whether is this a rich man's house, 

Or whether is it a puir, ? 
But never a word wad ane o' them speak, 

For the barrin' o' the door, O. 



And first they ate the white puddins, 
And syne they ate the black, ; 

And muckle thocht our guidwife to hersel, 
But never a word she spak, 0. 

Then said the tane unto the tother, 
Hae, man, take ye my knife, 0, 

Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard, 
And I '11 kiss the s;uidwife, O. 



192 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



But there 's nae water in the house, 
And what shall we do than, l 

What ails ye at the puddin' broo, 
That boils into the pan, ? 

0, up then started our guidman, 
And an angry man was he, O : 

Wad ye kiss my wife before my face, 
And scaud me wi' puddin' bree, ? 

Then up and startit our guidwife, 
Gi'ed three skips on the floor, O : 

Guidman, ye 've spoken the foremost word, 
Get up and bar the door, 0. 



TODLIN HAME. 

' Perhaps the first bottle-song,' says Burns, ' that ever was 
composed.' It used to be a great favourite with the merry 
clubs of Edinburgh, and a gentleman named Balfour so charmed 
the fraternity of Golfers, by singing it in a characteristic manner, 
that they had his portrait taken by Baeburn, and hung up in 
the Golfers' Hall at Leith. The position of the singer, with 
his thumb turned appropriately down upon the table, and his 
sly comic look, made this a picture of some value, irrespective of 
the fame of the artist. The verses appeared in the Tea-table 
Miscellany, and the air in the Orpheus Caledonius. 



i^fg^iiiip^ipiE^ 



** 



When I hae a saxpence un - der my thoom, Then 



& 



4f 



get en 



ka toun : 



But, 



TODLIN HAME. 




U 



aye when I'm poor they bid me gang by, Oh, 

Chorus. 



^^m 



^-^— i 



B 



m 



d d 



j3t 



pov - er - ty parts guid com-pa-ny! Tod - lin hf 



y 



E3t 



fe§^ES=^ 



#,< 



tod -lin hame, couldna my love come tod - lin hame? 

When I hae a saxpence under my thoom, 
Then I get credit in ilka toun ; 
But, aye when I 'm poor they bid me gang by, 
Oh, poverty parts guid company ! 

Todlin hame, and todlin hame, 

Couldna my love come todlin hame ? 



Fair fa' the guidwife and send her guid sale ! 
She gies us white bannocks to relish her ale ; 
Syne, if that her tippeny chance to be sma', 
We tak a guid scour o 't, and ca 't awa'. 

Todlin hame, todlin hame, 

As round as a neep come todlin hame. 



My kimmer and I lay doun to sleep, 
And twa pint-stoups at our bed's feet ; 
And aye when we waken'd we drank them dry 
What think ye o' my wee kimmer and I ? 

Todlin butt, and todlin ben, 

Sae round as my luve comes todlin hame. 

M 



194 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Leeze me on liquor, my todlin dow, 

Ye 're aye sae guid-humour'd when weetin' your mou' ! 

When sober sae sour, ye '11 fecht wf a flee, 

That 'tis a blithe nicht to the bairns and me, 
When todlin hame, todlin hame, 
When, round as a neep, ye come todlin hame. 



THE MILLER. 

This song, which appeared in The Charmer, 1751, is usually 
attributed to Sir John Clerk, of Penicuick, one of the Barons 
of the Court of Exchequer in Scotland, and a cultivator of 
matters of taste, including antiquities, during a time when such 
men were few in the land. He died at a ripe age in 1755. 

Mr Stenhouse remarks, that ' the thought expressed in the last 
two lines, beginning " Who 'd be a king 1 " appears to be borrowed 
from a similar idea in the old ballad of Tarry Woo! 



I 



fa ^#^^fg3 



r*=J- 



(), mer - rv mav the maid be That mar-ries the 



m^^^m 



^ZZZit 



jt-^? 





mill - er ! 

1 a 


For, 


foul 


day 


or 


fair 


day, 


He's 




/ 1 • ■ 


m .'.' 




C?v 


1 '! 


m ' P 






/ 


b A 1 1 




1 J 


J 


1 r 


1 


_- 


( 


\ v d 1 




* 


a 


V ' 


V 


) s ' 






1 r 


« 





















S 



aye . bring - ing till her. H'as aye a pen - ny 

& 



3= 



S 



^=^ 



in his pouch, For din - ner or for sup -per; And 



THE MILLER. 



195 



^E^g 



m^ 



ii 



— jt 



gin she please, a guid fat cheese, An' lumps o' yel - low 



if 



a^3 



but - tor. 



0, meny may the maid be 

That marries the miller ! 
For, foul day or fair day, 

He 's aye bringing till her. 
H'as aye a penny in his pouch, 

For dinner or for supper ; 
And gin she please, a guid fat cheese, 

An' lumps o' yellow butter. 

Behind the door stands bags o' meal, 

And in the kist is plenty, 
And good hard cakes his mither bakes, 

And bannocks are na scanty. 
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow, 

Are standing in the byre ; 
Whilst winking puss, wi' mealy mouse, 

Is playing round the fire. 



Good signs are these, my mither says, 

And bids me take the miller ; 
A miller's wife's a merry wife, 

And he 's aye bringing till her. 
For meal or maut she '11 never want, 

Nor ony thing that 's dainty, 
And now and then a cackling hen, 

To lay her eggs in plenty. 



196 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



In winter time, when wind and rain 

Blow o'er the house and byre, 
He sits beside a clean hearthstane, 

Before a rousing fire ; 
O'er foaming ale he tells his tale ; 

"Which rows him o'er fu' happy : 
Who 'd be a king, a petty thing, 

When a miller lives so happy ? 



HOOLY AND FAIRLY. 

Mr Stenhouse has traced this comical production as far back 
as 1 75 1, when it appeared in Yair's Charmer; and he adds that 
the late Mrs Brown, of Newbattle, had heard the author 
(name forgotten) sing it, when residing with her friend Captain 
Mason at Eadesham, Renfrewshire. 



Bonn in yon meadow a cou - pie did tar - ry : The guid- 



fe^ 



S^i 



I * i 



_, — [_ 

wife she drank nae-thing but sack and can - a - ry; The 



* 



«: 



E 



^EEtZ X=t 



guid - man com - plain'd to her friends richt ear - ly- 



P 



^£Efe3=l 



Oh, gin my wife wad drink hoo - ly and fair - ly! 



HOOLY AND FAIRLY. 



197 



^ 



^m 



tr=t 



Hoo - ly 



and fair 



hoo 



and fair - ly, 



^B 



Oh, gin my wife wad drink hoo - ly and fair - ly ! 

Doun in yon meadow a couple did tarry : 
The guidwife she drank naething but sack and canary 
The guidman complain'd to her friends richt early — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly 1 and fairly ! 
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

First she drank Crummie, and syne she drank Gairie, 2 
And syne she drank my bonnie gray marie, 
That carried me through a' the dubs and the lairie — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

She drank her hose, she drank her shoon, 
And syne she drank her bonnie new goun ; 
She drank her sark that cover'd her rarely — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

Wad she drink but her ain things, I wadna care, 
But she drinks my claes that I canna weil spare ; 
When I 'm wi' my gossips it angers me sairly — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

My Sunday's coat she 's laid it in wad, 
And the best blue bonnet e'er was on my head ; 
At kirk and at mercat I 'm cover'd but barely — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 



Moderately. 



The two cows. 



198 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

My bonnie white mittens I wore on my hands, 
Wi' her neibour's wife she laid them in pawns ; 
My bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae dearly — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

I never was for wranglin' nor strife, 
Nor did I deny her the comforts o' life ; 
For when there 's a war, I 'm aye for a parly — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

When there 's ony money she maun keep the purse ; 
If I seek but a bawbee she '11 scold and she '11 curse ; 
She lives like a queen — I but scrimpit and sparely — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; 
But when she sits down, she gets hersel fou, 
And when she is fou she is unco camstarie — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

When she comes to the street she roars and she rants, 
Has nae fear o' her neibours, nor minds the house wants ; 
She rants up some fule-sang, like, Up your heart, Charlie 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 



When she comes haine she lays on the lads, 
The lasses she ca's baith [taupies] and jauds, 
And ca's mysel an auld cuckle-carlie — 
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

It is perhaps not unworthy of notice, that the two last verses 
have supplied to Scott the humour of a scene in Waverley, 
where the smith's wife, a tippler and a Jacobite, creates the riot 
which ends in the arrest of the hero. 



THE LASS OF LIVINGSTONE. 

The original ballad of The Lass of Livingstone has been doomed 
for reason good to oblivion, there being nothing of it preserved 
but a verse beginning, 

The bonnie lass of Livingstone, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken. 
Ramsay, seeing the impossibility of getting the rustic verses into 
good company, composed for the air one of his mediocre songs, 
beginning with this verse : 

Pained with her slighting Jamie's love, 

Bell dropped a tear, Bell dropped a tear ; 
The gods descended from above, 
Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear. 
Fortunately, in our wish to convey the air in connection with 
a song, we are relieved from the dilemma between the original 
lass and worthy Allan's tear-dropping Bell, by a clever old ditty 
to this tune, 1 which was taken down some years ago from the 
singing of an elderly man residing in Peebles. 



P^p^^^E^p^^ 



K • ,- 



m 



To hae a wife and rule a wife, Taks a 



S 



fc* 



^m 



wise man, taks a 



man : But to 



festei 



s 



it?- s w — ' -m- -a- -j-m- 

get a wife to rule a man, that ye can, 

1 The Lass of Livingstone is the name of one of the tunes in Henry 
Playford's Collection, 1700. 



200 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



fc± 



aes 



P^ 



i=e 



^S£ 



^-- 



that ye can. 



So the wife that 's wise 



ij^gB^^l 



i* 



aye maun prize, For they 're few, ye ken, they 'r 



tmivnrxn^ m 



fett 



few, ye ken ; 



Sol - o - mon says y< 



i^iippl 



WZW^^l 



find ane, In hun - dreds ten. 



hun-dreds ten 



To liae a wife and rule a wife, 

Taks a wise man, taks a wise man ; 
But to get a wife to rule a man, 

that ye can, O that ye can. 
So the wife that's wise we aye maun prize, 

For they're few, ye ken, they're few, ye ken ; 
O Solomon says ye '11 no find ane, 

In hundreds ten, in hundreds ten. 

So he that gets a guid, guid wife, 

Gets gear eneuch, gets gear eneuch ; 
And he that gets an ill, ill wife, 

Gets cares eneuch, gets fears eneuch. 
A man may spend, and hae to the end, 

If his wife be ought, if his wife be ought ; 
But a man may spare, and aye be bare, 

If his wife be nought, if his wife be nought. 

learn from the Memoirs of Alexander Carlyle, 1 that the 
actual bonnie lass of Livingstone was living in that district in 



\\ 



1 Edinburgh, i860 ; p. 97. 



MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING. 



201 



1 744, by which time she must have reached a mature period of 
life. Being storm-stayed in November that year on his way to 
Glasgow, Carlyle spent three days at the little solitary auberge 
of Whitburn, when at length a returning postchaise enabled him 
to complete his journey. The landlady, whom he characterises 
as a 'sensible woman,' 'had in her youth been celebrated in 
a song as " the bonnie lass of Livingstone." The walls and 
windows,' he adds, ' were all scrawled with poetry ; and I amused 
myself not a little in composing a satire on my predecessors, 
which I also inscribed on the walls, to the great delight of my 
landlady, who shewed it for many years afterwards with vanity 
to her travellers.' 



MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING. 



^ m E^s^m ^^f j 



$ 



My wife 's a wan - ton wee thing, My wife 's a wan - ton 



Sfe 



*= 



wee thing, My wife 's a 



wan - ton wee thing: She 



pi 



¥ 



T 



win - na 



guid - ed by 



She 



i 



^ 



¥ 



play'd the loon ere she was mar - ried, She 



I 



^3E 



play'd the loon ere she was mar - ried, She 



J02 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



^ 



PP 



play'd the loon 



She '11 




^ 



Sain ere she 



die 



My wife 's a wanton wee thing, 
My wife 's a wanton wee thing, 
My wife 's a wanton wee thing ; 
She winna be guided by me. 

She play'd the loon ere she was married, 
She play'd the loon ere she was married, 
She play'd the loon ere she was married ; 
She '11 do 't again ere she die ! 

She sell'd her coat, and she drank it, 
She sell'd her coat, and she drank it, 
She row'd hersel in a blanket ; 
She winna be guided by me. 

She mind 't na when I forbade her, 
She mind 't na when I forbade her ; 
I took a rung and I claw'd her, 
And a braw guid bairn was she ! 



Of this somewhat foolish canticle, the first two verses appear 
in Herd's Collection ; the others are added in Johnson's 
Museum. The air, which is also recognised as a dance, is 
given in Oswald's Pocket Companion. 



THE WEARY PUND 0' TOW. 

So broad a feature of old Scottish life as the use of the 
spinning-wheel could scarcely have escaped the notice of the 
native muse. We have several songs on this subject — one, above 
all, satirising a housewife who neglected her spinning, which 
appears to have sprung up in the middle of the eighteenth 
century", as its title and air occur in Oswald's Caledonian Pocket 
Companion. We give this song, as far as it can now be recovered, 
but preceded by an improved version which Burns supplied to 
the Musical Museum. 



m 



gg^ 



fci* 



The wea - ry pund, The wea - ry pund, The 



fe^JL^ p ^ p ^ZXJI^ 



wea - ry pund 



I think my wife will 



m 



ir~^^ i -j3 



w 



end her life, be - fore she spin the tow ! 



I 



£ 



*=fc 



EZfEE^ 



f=g=F 



bought mv wife a stane o' lint, As guid as e'er did 







m 



And 



I 



that she has made o' that Is 
Chorus. 



Wm. 



m 



*iC 



ae puir pund 



tow. 



The wea - ry pund, the, &c. 



204 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 
The weary pund o' tow, 

I think my wife will end her life, 
Before she spin the tow ! 

I bought my wife a stane o' lint, 
As guid as e'er did grow ; 

And a' that she has made o' that 
Is ae puir pund o' tow. 

There sat a bottle in a bole, 

Beyont the ingle low ; 
And aye she took the tother sook, 

To drouk the stoury tow. 

Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame, 
Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 

She took the rock, and wi' a knock, 
She brak it o'er my pow ! 

At last her feet, I sang to see 't, 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe, 

And ere I wed another jaud, 
I '11 wallop in a tow. 



[old version.] 

I bought my maiden and my wife 

A half a pund o' tow, 
And it will serve them a' their life, 

Let them spin as they dow. 
I thought my tow was endit — 

It wasna weel begun ! 
I think my wife will end her life 

Afore the tow be spun. 



THE WEARY PUND O' TOW. 205 

I lookit to my yarn-knag, 

And it grew never mair ; 
I lookit to my beef-stand — 

My heart grew wonder sair ; 
I lookit to my meal-boat, 

And 0, but it was bowe ! 
I think my wife will end her life 

Afore she spin' her tow. 

But if your wife and my wife 

Were in a boat thegither, 
And yon other man's wife 

Were in to steer the rather ; l 
And if the boat were bottomless, 

And seven mile to row, 
I think they'd ne'er come hame again, 

To spin the pund o' tow ! 2 

1 Rudder. 

2 Besides the foregoing three stanzas, there is another, which appears 
to belong to the same song, but cannot be placed anywhere as a part 
of it : probably some intervening stanzas are lost. The delinquent 
housewife herself is introduced, endeavouring to borrow linen to make 
shirts for her husband, and promising restitution at a period synonymous, 
according to all appearance, with the Greek Calends : 

O weel's us a' on our guidman, 

For he 's come hame, 
Wi' a suit o' new claes ; 

But sarkin he 's got nane. 
Come lend to me some sarkin, 

Wi' a' the haste ye dow, 
And ye 'se be weel pay'd back again, 

When ance I spin my tow. 



206 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



WOO'D, AND MAKRIED, AND A'. 

This characteristic old song appeared in Herd's Collection, but 
had probably been in existence for a considerable time before. 



i 



ES=I 



lh-*—t 



The bride cam oiit 



the bvre. 



And, 



:fv 



she 



disrht - ed 



her cheeks ! Sirs 



^^ m^^^^^^^ 



I 'rn 



to he mar - ried the night, And have 



fc 



m 



neith 



i 



blank 



ets 



sheets : Have 



&=PEfr 



neith 



blank - ets 



sheets 



i 



fk 



^rt 



Mcarre a 



let 



too ; 



The 



^^mm 



bride that has 



thing 



to bor - row, Has 



fe^g 



WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'. 

Chorus. 



207 



:f5=fc 



m 



e'en right muckle a - do. Woo'd, and mar - ried, and a', 

=A==fc= =— : — ^ H — r- 



lE 



s 



Mar 



ried, 



and 



woo'd. 



and 



And 



fe=l 



£ 



was she nae ve - rv weel off" That wa 



^^=^=^ 



woo'd, and mar - ried, and a'? 

The bride cam out o' the byre, 

And, 0, as she dighted her cheeks ! 
Sirs, I 'm to be married the night, 

And have neither blankets nor sheets ; 
Have neither blankets nor sheets, 

Nor scarce a coverlet too ; 
The bride that has a' thing to borrow, 
Has e'en right muckle ado. 
Woo'd, and married, and a', 

Married, and woo'd, and a' ! 
And was she nae very weel off, 

That was woo'd, and married, and a' ? 

Out and spake the bride's father, 

As he cam in frae the pleugh ; 
0, haud your tongue, my dochter, 

And ye 'se get gear eneugh ; 
The stirk stands i' th' tether, 

And our bra' bawsint yade 
Will carry ye hame your corn — 

What wad ye be at, ye jade ? 



208 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Out and spake the bride's mither, 

What deil needs a' this pride ? 
I had nae a plack in my ponch 

That night I was a bride ; 
My gown was linsey-woolsey, 

And ne'er a sark ava ; 
And ye hae ribbons and buskins, 

Mae than ane or twa. 



Out and spake the bride's brither, 

As he came in wi' the kye ; 
Poor Willie wad ne'er hae ta'en ye, 

Had he kent ye as weel as I ; 
For ye 're baith proud and saucy, 

And no for a poor man's wife ; 
Gin I canna get a better, 

I 'se ne'er tak ane i' my life. 

Out and spake the bride's sister 
As she came in frae the byre ; 

gin I were but married, 
It 's a' that I desire : 

But we poor folk maun live single, 
And do the best that we can ; 

1 dinna care what I shou'd want 
If I cou'd set but a man. 



At a more recent date, a lady, usually described as ' Mrs Scott 
of Dumbartonshire,' composed a song to the same tune ; a 
piece embodying pretty successfully the prudent, pride-humbling 
philosophy of the Scottish commonalty : 

The grass had nae freedom o' growin' 

As lang as she wasna awa' ; 
Nor in the toun could there be stowin' 

For wooers that wanted to ca\ 



WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'. 209 

Sic boxin', sic brawlin', sic dancin', 

Sic bowin' and shakin' a paw ; 
The toun was for ever in brulyies : 
But now the lassie 's awa'. 
Wooed, and married, and a', 

Married, and wooed, and a' ; 
The dandilie toast of the parish, 

She 's wooed, and she 's carried awa.' 

But had he a-kenn'd her as I did, 

His wooin' it wad hae been snia' : 
She kens neither bakin', nor brewin', 

Nor cardin', nor spinnin' ava ; 
But a' her skill lies in her buskin' : 

And, O, if her braws were awa', 
She sune wad wear out o' fashion, 

And knit up her huggers wi' straw. 

But yesterday I gaed to see her, 

And, 0, she was bonnie and braw ; 
She cried on her guidman to gie her 

An ell o' red ribbon or twa. 
He took, and he set down beside her 

A wheel and a reel for to ca' ; 
She cried, Was he that way to guide her ? 

And out at the door and awa'. 



The first road she gaed was her mither, 

Wha said, Lassie, how gaes a' 1 
Quo' she, Was it for nae ither 

That I was married awa', 
But to be set down to a wheelie, 

And at it for ever to ca' ? 
And syne to hae 't reel'd by a chieldie 

That 's everly crying to draw. 



210 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Her mither said till her, Hech, lassie ! 

He 's wisest, I fear, o' the twa ; 
There '11 be little to put in the tassie, 

Gif ye be sae backward to draw ; 
For now ye should work like a tiger, 

And at it baith wallop and ca', 
Sae lang's ye hae youdith and vigour, 

And weanies and debt keep awa'. 

Sae swift away hame to your haddin' ; 

The mair fule ye e'er came awa' : 
Ye maunna be ilka day gaddin', 

Nor gang sae white-finger'd and braw 
For now wi' a neebor ye 're yokit, 

And wi' him should cannilie draw ; 
Or else ye deserve to be knockit — 

So that 's an answer for a'. 

Young luckie thus fand hersel mither' d, 

And wish'd she had ne'er come awa' ; 
At length wi' hersel she consider'd, 

That hameward 'twas better to draw, 
And e'en tak a chance o' the landin', 

However that matters might fa' : 
Folk maunna on freits aye be standin', 

That 's wooed, and married, and a'. 1 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

This song appears in the Tea-table Miscellany, 1 724, as an old 
song with additions. Its air, which is traced to a music-book, 
dated 1692, where it appears under the name of Jock the Laird's 
Brother, 2 has secured it popularity, and induced Burns to compose 

1 From Cromek's Select Scottish Songs, 1810. 

2 Laing's Notes to Stenhouse, p. 222*. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 



211 



another song on the basis of the same name, but with a different 
strain of ideas, by which the present lyric has been in a great 
measure superseded. 






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auld Rob Mor -ris is the man ye maun lo'e. 



There 's auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, 
He 's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men ; 
He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too ; 
And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e. 



212 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

DAUGHTER. 

Haud your tongue, mother, and let that abee 
For his eild 1 and my eild can never agree : 
They '11 never agree, and that will be seen ; 
For he is fourscore, and I 'm but fifteen. 



MOTHER. 

Haud your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride, 
For he is the bridegroom, and ye 'se be the bride ; 
[Ye '11 hae a bein house and right little to do], 
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e. 

DAUGHTER. 

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel, 

His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ; 

He 's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eyed too : 

Auld Rob Morris is the man I '11 ne'er lo'e. 



Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, 
Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan ; 2 
Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoe, 
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e. 

DAUGHTER. 

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae, 
His back is so stiff, and his beard is grown gray ; 
I had rather die than live wi' him a year ; 
Sae mair o' Rob Morris I never will hear. 

1 Age. 2 This expression has become proverbial in Scotland. 



GALA WATEE. 



There is a series of old rustic songs commemorating a ' bonnie 
lass,' also the ' braw, braw lads/ of Gala Water, and which were 
sung to a beautiful simple air of one strain. The following is 
the lyric in praise of the lass : 



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Bon - nie lass 



Ga - la Wa - ter, Braw, braw lass o' 



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Bonnie lass o' Gala Water, 
Braw, braw lass o' Gala Water, 
I could wade the stream sae deep, 
For yon braw lass o' Gala Water: 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonnie blue her een, and cheerie ; 
The mair I kiss her cherry lips, 
The mair I wish her for my dearie. 
Bonnie lass, &c. 

Ower yonder moss, ower yonder muir, 
Through a' yon mossy muirs and heather, 
O, I could rin, wi' heart sae licht, 
Wi' my dear lassie to forgather ! 
Bonnie lass, &C. 1 

1 Taken down from recitation. 



214 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

It is otherwise given, as follows, in Herd's Collection, 1 776 : 

Braw, braw lads of Gala Water, 

O, braw lads of Gala Water, 
1 '11 kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie, 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 
I aften kiss her till I 'm wearie. 

Ower yon bank, and ower yon brae, 
Ower yon moss amang the heather, 

I '11 kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my love through the water. 

There was also a rather incoherent ballad, as follows : 

Out ower yon moss, out ower yon muir, 
Out ower yon bonnie bush o' heather ! 
O all ye lads, whae'er ye be, 

Shew me the way to Gala Water. 
Braw, braw lads o' Gala Water, 

Bonnie lads o' Gala Water ; 
The Lothian lads maun ne'er compare 
Wi' the braw lads o' Gala Water. 

At Nettlie-flat we will begin, 

And at Halltree we '11 write a letter ; 

We '11 down by the Bower, and take a scour, 
And drink to the lads o' Gala Water. 

There 's Blindlie and Torwoodlee, 
And Galashiels is muckle better ; 

But young Torsonce he bears the gree 
Of a' the Pringles 0' Gala Water. 



GALA WATER. 215 

Buckham is a bonnie place ; 

But Appletree-leaves is muckle better ; 
But Cockleferry bears the gree 

Frae ilka laird on Gala Water. 

Lords and lairds came here to woo, 
And gentlemen wi' sword and dagger ; 

But the black-eyed lass o' Galashiels 

Wad hae nane but the gree o' Gala Water. 

Lothian lads are black wi' reek, 

And Teviotdale lads are little better ; 

But she 's kiltit her coats abune her knee, 
And gane wi' the lad o' Gala Water. 

Though corn-rigs are guid to see, 

Yet flocks o' sheep are muckle better ; 

For oats will shake in a windy day, 
When the lambs will play in Gala Water. 

Adieu, sour plooms o' Galashiels, 

Farewell, my father and my mother ; 
For I '11 awa' wi' the black herd lad, 
Wha keeps his flocks on Gala Water. 
Braw, braw lads o' Gala Water, 

Bonnie lads o' Gala Water ! 
Let them a' say what they will, 
The gree gaes aye to Gala Water. 

It is scarcely necessary to remark that Burns put these pro- 
ductions out of their wonted popularity, by his beautiful song to 
the same air. 



216 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE HIGHLANDMAN'S COMPLAINT. 

One of the very old airs of Scotland "bore the name of Clout 
the Caldron. Father Hay, in his Genealogy of the Hayes of Tiveed- 
dale, written about 1690, says that the song of The Clouting of 
the Caldron was written upon a grandfather of Sir John Sinclair 
of Stevenston, who was ' a famous brewer in Leith, where the 
Sinclair. Society [probably a brewing company] is yet extant.' 
The liveliness of the air is said to have drawn from the second 
Bishop Chisholm of Dunblane the declaration that, if he were 
going .to be hanged, he would choose to have Clout the Caldron 
played by the way. The original song being quite too rough 
for introduction to a tea-table, Allan Kamsay modified it into 
a strain which he honestly believed to be fit for the society of 

ilka lovely British lass, 

Frae Ladies Charlotte, Anne, and Jean, 

Down to ilk bonnie singing Bess, 
Wha dances barefoot on the green — 

but which we, in these days, would decidedly condemn to the 
back of the stable-door at best. Thus all connected with Clout 
the Caldron is put out of court, except the air. 

That this may not be lost, it is here given in connection with 
a song which appears to have been composed for it about the 
middle of the last century, being a mountaineer's deploration 
on the changes then introduced into his country, for what was 
thought to be its improvement, including good roads. This 
song, commonly entitled TurnimspiJce, was published in Herd's 
Collection. 



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THE HIGHLANDMAN'S COMPLAINT. 



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la la la, Fa la la. 

Hersel pe Highland shentleman, 
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 

And many alterations seen 

Amang te Lawland "Whig, man. 
Fa la la la, Fa la la la la, &c. 

First when she to te Lawlands came, 
Nainsel was driving cows, man, 

There was nae laws to trouble him, 
About te preeks or trews, man. 

Nainsel did wear te philabeg, 
Te plaid prick'd on her shouder ; 

Te guid claymore hung py her pelt ; 
Her pistol sharged with powder. 

But for whereas these cursed preeks, 
Wherewith her legs pe lockit ; 

Ohon that ere she saw the day ! 
For a' her houghs pe prokit. 



218 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Everything in te Highlands now 

Pe turn'd to alteration ; 
Te sodger dwall at our door cheek, 

And tat pe great vexation. 

Scotland pe turn'd a Ningland now, 
The laws pring in te caudger ; 

Nainsel wad dirk him for his deeds, 
But, oh ! she fears te sodger. 

Anitherlaw came after tat, 
Me never saw the like, man, 

They mak a lang road on te crund, 
And ca' him Turnimspike, man ; 

And wow she pe a ponny road, 
Like Loudon corn-riggs, man, 

Where twa carts may gang on her, 
And no preak ither's legs, man. 

They charge a penny for ilka horse, 
In troth she '11 no be sheaper, 

For nought but gaun upon the ground, 
And they gie her a paper. 

They take the horse then py te head, 

And there they make him stand, man 
She tell them she had seen the day 



Nae doubt nainsel maun draw her purse, 
And pay him what him like, man ; 

She '11 see a shudgement on his toor, 
That filthy turnimspike, man. 

But she '11 awa' to te Highland hills, 
Where deil a ane dare turn her, 

And no come near te turnimspike, 
Unless it pe to purn her. 



THE EOCK AND THE WEE PICKLE TOW. 

This song, in a somewhat larger form, was written "by Alex- 
ander Eoss, schoolmaster of Lochlee, Forfarshire, author of a 
dramatic poem, entitled The Fortunate Shepherdess, which has not 
yet been consigned to oblivion. It was published in Herd's 
Collection. It may be remarked that the air is evidently the 
basis of a modern Irish melody, entitled The Land of the West. 



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There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow, 

And she wad gae try the spinnin' o't ; 
She louted her doun, and her rock took a-low, 

And that was a had beginnin' o't. 
She sat and she grat, and she flat and she flang, 
And she threw and she blew, and she wriggled and wrang, 
And she chokit and boakit, and cried like to mang, 

Alas, for the dreary beginnin' o't ! 

I 've wanted a sark for these aught-years-and-ten, 

And this was to be the beginnin' o't ; 
But I vow I shall want it for as lang again, 

Or ever I try the spinnin' o't. 
For never since ever they ca'd as they ca' me, 
Did sic a mishap and mischanter befa' me ; 
But ye shall hae leave baith to hang and to draw me, 

The neist time I try the spinnin' o't. 



I hae keepit my house now these threescore o' years, 

And aye I kept frae the spinnin' o't ; 
But how I was sarkit, foul fa' them that speirs, 

For it minds me upo' the beginnin' o't. 
But our women are now-a-days a' grown sae braw, 
That ilk ane maun hae a sark, and some hae twa — 
The warlds were better where ne'er ane ava 

Had a rag, but ane at the beginnin' o't. 



TULLOCHGORUM. 221 

In the days they ca' yore, gin auld fouks [could but get] 
To a surcoat, hough-syde, 1 for the winnin' o't, 

Of coat-raips weel cut by the cast o' their [shape], 
They never socht mair o' the spinnin' o't. 

A pair o' gray hoggers weil cluikit benew, 

Of nae other lit but the hue of the ewe, 

With a pair o' rough mullions to scuff through the dew, 
Was the fee they socht at the beginnin' o't. 

But we maun hae linen, and that maun hae we, 

And how get we that but by spinnin' o't ? 
How can we hae face for to seek a great fee, 

Except we can help at the winnin' o't ? 
And we maun hae pearlins, and mabbies, and cocks, 2 
And som# other things that the ladies ca' smocks ; 
And how get we that, gin we tak na our rocks, 

And pu' what we can at the spinnin' o't ? 

'Tis needless for us to mak our remarks, 

Frae our mither's miscookin' the spinnin' o't. 

She never kenn'd ocht o' the gueed o' the sarks, 
Frae this aback to the beginnin' o't. 

Twa-three ell o' plaiden was a' that was socht 

By our auld-warld bodies, and that bude be bought ; 

For in ilka town siccan things wasna wrocht — 
Sae little they kenn'd o' the spinnin' o't ! 



TULLOCHGORUM. 

The author of the following clever song was the Rev. John 
Skinner, Episcopal minister at Longmay, Aberdeenshire. He 
was a man passing rich with forty pounds a year, who never 

1 Hough-syde ; that is, as long in the skirts as to reach the hams. 

2 Varieties of female head-gear. 



222 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



wanted a smile on his countenance and thankfulness in his 
heart. Though belonging to a clerical body generally reputed as 
Jacobites, and though he himself suffered imprisonment during 
the Forty-five on suspicion, it does not appear that Skinner had 
any strong partisan feelings, except in favour of mirth and social 
harmony in general. Being one day at the house of a friend 
named Montgomery, in the village of Ellon, in Aberdeenshire, 
where a hot dispute raged for some time between two persons of 
opposite political sentiments, and the lady of the house having 
called for a song to restore good-humour, Skinner improved on 
the hint to write a song which has been printed in nearly every 
subsequent collection — taking as an air the Reel of Tullochgorum. 



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Corae gie 's a sang, Montgomery cried, 
And lay your disputes all aside ; 
What signifies 't for folks to chide 

For what 's been done before them ? 
Let Whig and Tory all agree, 
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 

To drop their Whigmegmorum. 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 
To spend this night with mirth and glee, 
And cheerfu' sing alang wi' me 

The reel of Tullochgorum. 



224 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

O, Tullochgorinn 's my delight ; 

It gars us a' in ane unite ; 

And ony sumph 1 that keeps up spite, 

In conscience I abhor him. 
Blithe and merry we 's be a', 
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry, 
Blithe and merry we 's be a', 

And mak a cheerfu' quorum. 
Blithe and merry we 's be a', 
As lang as we hae breath to draw, 
And dance, till we be like to fa', 



There need na be sae great a phraise, 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays ; 
I wadna gie our ain strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' 'em. 
They 're douff and dowie 2 at the best, 
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie, 
They 're douff and dowie at the best, 

Wi' a' their variorums. 
They 're douff and dowie at the best, 
Their allegros, and a' the rest, 
They canna please a Highland taste, 

Compared wi' Tullochgorum. 

Let warldly minds themselves oppress 
Wi' fear of want, and double cess, 
And sullen sots themselves distress 

Wi' keeping up decorum. 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky, 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 

Like auld Philosophorums ? 

1 Fool. 2 Stupid and doleful. 



EWIE WI' THE CROOKIT HORN. 



225 



Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit, 
And canna rise to shake a lit 
At the reel of Tullochgorum 1 

May choicest blessings still attend 
Each honest-hearted open friend ; 
And calm and quiet be his end, 

And a' that 's good watch o'er him ! 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 

And dainties, a great store o' 'em ! 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 
Unstain'd by any vicious blot ; 
And may he never want a groat, 

That 's fond o' Tullochgorum. 



EWIE WI' THE CROOKIT HORN. 

The following is another happy song by the amiable Skinner 
of Longmay. It seems to refer to some simple domestic incident ; 
yet there was an earlier and still more simple song of the same 
strain. 



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SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Here - a - houts nor far a - wa\ 

O, were I able to rehearse, 
My ewie's praise in proper verse, 
I 'd sound it out as loud and fierce 
As ever piper's drone could blaw. 
My ewie wi' the crookit horn ! 
A' that kenn'd her would hae sworn, 
Sic a ewie ne'er was born, 
Hereabouts nor far awa'. 

She neither needed tar nor keel, 
To mark her upon hip or heel ; 
Her crookit hornie did as weel, 
To ken her by amang them a'. 

She never threaten'd scab nor rot, 
But keepit aye her ain jog-trot ; 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 
Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. 



A better nor a thriftier beast, 
Nae honest man need e'er hae wish'd 
For, silly thing, she never miss'd 
To hae ilk year a lamb or twa. 



EWIE WI' THE CROOKIT HORN. 227 

The first she had I ga'e to Jock, 
To be to him a kind o' stock ; 
And now the laddie has a flock 
Of mair than thretty head and twa. 

The neist I ga'e to Jean ; and now 
The bairn 's sae braw, has fanlds sae fu', 
That lads sae thick come her to woo, 
They 're 'fain to sleep on hay or straw. 

Cauld nor hunger never dang her, 
Wind or rain could never wrang her ; 
Ance she lay an ouk and langer 
Forth aneath a wreath o' snaw. 

When other ewies lap the dyke, 
And ate the kale for a' the tyke, 1 
My ewie never play'd the like, 
But teesed about the barn wa\ 

I lookit aye at even for her, 
Lest mischanter should come ower her, 
Or the foomart micht devour her, 
Gin the beastie bade awa'. 

Yet, last ouk, for a' my keeping 
(Wha can tell o't without greeting ?), 
A villain cam, when I was sleeping, 
Staw my ewie, horn and a'. 

I socht her sair upon the morn, 
And down aneath a bush o' thorn, 
There I fand her crookit horn, 
But my ewie was awa'. 

1 Notwithstanding the dog. 



228 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

But gin I had the loon that did it, 
I hae sworn as weel as said it, 
Although the laird himsel forbid it, 
I sail gie his neck a thraw. 

I never met wi' sic a turn : 
At e'en I had baith ewe and horn, 
Safe steekit up ; but, 'gain the morn, 
Baith ewe and horn were stown awa\ 

A' the claes that we hae worn, 
Frae her and hers sae aft was shorn ; 
The loss o' her we could hae borne, 
Had fair-strae death ta'en her awa'. 

O, had she died o' croup or cauld, 
As ewies die when they grow auld, 
It hadna been, by mony fauld, 
Sae sair a heart to ane o' us a'. 

But thus, puir thing, to lose her life, 
Beneath a bluidy villain's knife ; 
In troth, I fear that our guidwife 
Will never get abune 't ava. 

O, all ye bards benorth Kinghorn, 
Call up your muses, let them mourn 
Our ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
Frae us stown, and fell'd and a' ! 

The earlier song of the Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn thus appears 
in a manuscript collection in the possession of Mr Thomas 
Mansfield, accountant, Edinburgh. 

Ewie wi' the crooked horn, may you never see the morn ; 
Ilka day ye steal my corn, ewie wi' the crooked horn ; 
A' the ewes come hame at even, a' the ewes come hame at even, 
A' the ewes come hame at even, crooked hornie bides awa'. 



I'LL GAR OUR GUIDMAN TROW. 



229 



Ilka ewie has a lambie, ilka ewie has a lambie, 
Ilka ewie has a lambie, crooked hornie she has twa. 
Ewie wi' the crooked horn, may you never see the morn, 
Ilka day ye steal my corn, ewie wi' the crooked horn. 

A' the ewes gie milk eneugh, a' the ewes gie milk eneugh,- 
A' the ewes gie milk eneugh, but crooked horn gies maist of a' 
Ewie wi' the crooked horn, may you never see the morn, 
Ilka day ye steal my corn, ewie wi' the crooked horn. 



I'LL GAR OUR GUIDMAN TROW. 




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gar our guidman trow I '11 sell the lad - le, If 



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Stand a - bout, ye fish-erjauds, And gie my gown room! 

1 '11 gar our guidman trow 

I'll sell the ladle, 
If he winna buy to me 

A bonnie side-saddle, 
To ride to kirk and "bridal, 

And round about the town, O ; 
Stand about, ye fisher jauds, 

And gie my gown room ! 



230 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



J '11 gar our guidman trow 

I '11 tak the fling-strings, 
If lie winna buy to me 

Twal bonnie gowd rings ; 
Ane for ilka finger, 

And twa for ilka thoom ; 
Stand about, ye fisher jauds, 

And gie my gown room ! 

I '11 gar our guidman trow 

That I 'm gaun to die, 
If he winna fee to me 

Valets twa or three, 
To bear my train up frae the dirt, 

And ush me 'through the town ; 
Stand about, ye fisher jauds, 

And gie my gown room ! 1 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 



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Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest works she 



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class - es, 0; Her 'pren-tice hand she tried on nun, And 



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0. Green grow the 



then she made the lass - 



1 First published in a little collection of old songs, entitled the Ballad- 
Book, which was printed for private distribution, at Edinburgh, under 
the care of Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, in the year 1824. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 231 



^pE^EE^EEEEEE^Ei-EtEgESlEEE 



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irash-es, 0, Green grow the rash-es, 0, The sweet -est hours that 



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e'er I spent, Were spent a - mang the kss - es, 0. 

A song of the kind which once passed current amongst inno- 
cent people, but would now be utterly condemned by the same 
class, has existed from old times, with a refrain beginning — 

Green grow the rashes, O, 
Green grow the rashes, 0. 

In our wish to convey at least the air, we are driven to the 
expedient of presenting it in connection with two of the verses of 
a comic song written for the same air by Burns : 

Green grow the rashes, O, 
Green grow the rashes, O, 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 
Were spent amang the lasses, O. 
Auld nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest works she classes, ; 
Her 'prentice hand she tried on man, 
And then she made the lasses, 0. 

The tune is one of the oldest which have been handed down 
to us. A manuscript broadside political song of the reign of 
William and Mary, containing the following verse : 

But let them say and do on, 
But let them say and do on, 
Our kirk, that had no head before, 
Has now a he and she one — 

is to the tune of Green Groiv the Rashes. 1 The tune, however, 
1 Wodrow Pamphlets, Adv. Lib. Edin. 



232 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

appears under this name, not only in a manuscript collection of 
the reign of Charles II., referred to by Mr Dauney, 1 but in the 
Lute-Book of Gordon of Straloch, which was compiled between 
1627 and 1629. 2 In the latter collection, it is entitled A Dance. 



GIN YE MEET A BONNIE LASSIE. 

Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 

Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 
But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gar rub her o'er wi' strae ! 
Fye, gar rub her, rub her, rub her, 

Fye, gar rub her o'er wi' strae, 
And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gar rub her o'er wi' strae ! 

This is all that has been preserved of an old, song — one of those 
for which Ramsay substituted new verses, thereby putting the 
old ones out of fashion, and consigning them to oblivion. In 
furnishing a new song, which he did by a paraphrase of the 
Vides ut alta of Horace, he retained the first of the above verses, 
though they do not cohere very well with his own. For the 
second, which is only a sort of refrain, we are indebted to the 
memory of Burns. The air being one of great merit, Ramsay 
also adapted to it one of the songs of his Gentle Shepherd, and 
Gay introduced it as a melody for one of the songs in his opera 
of Achilles, which was performed in 1733, after his decease. 

The recommendation given in this song as to the treatment 
proper for a bonnie lassie, will be generally intelligible, but 
scarcely so that pointed out in the case of the dirty hizzie. The 
explanation required in the latter case is, that there was an 
ancient rustic custom in Scotland of rubbing over with pease- 
straw a girl whose lover had proved unfaithful — a jocular kind of 
confirmation of the affront. 

1 Ancient Scottish Melodies, p. 142. 2 Ibid. p. 369. 



GIN YE MEET A BONNIE LASSIE. 
Ramsay's entire song to this tune is here subjoined : 



233 




Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 

Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 
But if ye meet a dirty hizzie, 

Fy, gar rub her o'er wi' strae. 
Be sure ye dinna quit the grip 

Of ilka joy when ye are young, 
Before auld age your vitals nip, 

And lay ye twa-fauld ower a rung. 

Sweet youth 's a blithe and heartsome time 
Then, lads and lasses, while it 's May, 

Gae pou the gowan in its prime, 
Before it wither and decay. 



234 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Watch the saft minutes o' delight, 

When Jenny speaks below her breath, 

And kisses, layin' a' the wyte 
On you if she kep ony skaith. 

Haith, ye 're ill-bred, she '11 smilin' say, 

Ye '11 worry me, ye greedy rook ; 
Syne frae your arms she '11 rin away, 

And hide hersel in some dark neuk. 
Her lauch will lead ye to the place, 

Where lies the happiness ye want ; 
And plainly tell ye to your face, 

Nineteen nay-says are hauf a grant. 

Now to her heavin' bosom cling, 

And sweitly tuilyie for a kiss ; 
Frae her fair finger whup a ring, 

As taiken o' a future bliss. 
These benisons, I 'm very sure, 

Are of kind heaven's indulgent grant ; 
Then, surly carles, wheesht, forbear 

To plague us wi' your whinin' cant ! 



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THE MUCKING 0' GEORDIE'S BYRE. 

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THE MUCKING O' GEORDIE'S BYRE. 



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fing-ers Wi' the mucking o' Geor - die's byre. 

The mucking o' Geordie's byre, 

And the sho'eling the gruip x sae clean, 
Has garred me weet my cheeks, 
And greet wi' baith my een. 
It ne'er was my father's will, 

Nor yet my mother's desire, 
That e'er I should fyle my fingers 
Wi' the mucking o' Geordie's byre. 

The mouse is a merry beast, 

The moudiewort 2 wants the een, 
But the warld shall ne'er get wit, 

Sae merry as we hae been. 

This song, which appeared in Herd's Collection, is supposed 
to have been composed at a much earlier period on a mesalliance 
formed by a young lady of rank — a baronet's daughter — with 
a young peasant ; and tradition adds that she had subsequently 
occasion, more than is even usual in such cases, to lament her 
folly, as her husband used her ill. The air is a favourite, and 
various other songs have been written for it, but none of much 
merit. 



1 The sewer of the cow-house. 



The mole. 



236 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



MY WIFE SHALL HAE HER WILL. 



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If my dear wife should chance to gang, 
Wi' me, to Ed'nburgh toun, 

Into a shop I will her tak, 
And buy her a new goun. 






MY WIFE SHALL HAE HER WILL. 237 

But if my dear wife should hain l the charge, 

As I expect she will, 
And if she says, The auld will do, 

By my word she '11 hae her will. 

[f my dear wife should wish to gang, 

To see a neebor or friend, 
A horse or a chair I will provide, 

And a servant to attend. 
But if my dear shall hain the charge, 

As I expect she will, 
And if she says, I '11 walk on foot, 

By my word she '11 hae her will. 

If my dear wife shall bring me a son, 

As I expect she will, 
Cake and wine I will provide, 

And a nurse to nurse the child. 
But if my dear wife shall hain the charge, 

As I expect she will, 
And if she says, She'll nurs't hersel, 

By my word she '11 hae her wilL 

This sly piece of Scotch humour was first published in a 
volume of old ditties, printed in 1824 under the title of the 
North-Countnj Garland, being one of the many services to the 
traditionary and historical literature of Scotland which have 
been rendered by Mr James Maidment, advocate. 

1 Save. 



233 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT. 






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when she cam ben she bob - bit fu' law. 



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syne she de-nied that she did it at. a'. 

O when she cam ben she bobbit fu' law, 
O when she cam ben she bobbit fu' law, 
And when she cam ben, she kissed Cockpen, 
And syne she denied that she did it at a'. 

And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha', 
And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha', 
In leaving the dochter of a lord, 
And kissing a collier lassie an a'? 

O never look doun, my lassie, at a', 

O never look doun, my lassie, at a' ; 

Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete, 

As the finest dame in castle or ha'. 

Though thou hae nae silk and holland sae sma', 
Though thou hae nae silk and holland sae sma', 
Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handy wark, 
And Lady Jean was never sae braw. 



MY AULD MAN. 



239 



This is an old song brushed up by Burns. The air appears 
in Mrs Crockat's Manuscript, 1709, and it was published in 
Oswald's Pocket Companion. Cockpen is an estate now belonging 
to the Earl of Dalhousie, in the parish of the same name, 
Edinburghshire. 

An admirable song, under the title of The Laird of Cockpen, 
was written to the same tune by Lady Nairn, and has very much 
assisted in throwing these old verses out of notice. 



MY AULD MAN. 



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In the land of Fife there lived n wiek - ed 



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when will ye die, my auld man? 

In the land of Fife there lived a wicked wife, 

And in the town of Cupar then, 
Who sorely did lament, and made her complaint, 

Oh when will ye die, my auld man ? 

In cam her cousin Kate, when it was growing late, 
She said, What 's guid for an auld man ? 

wheit-breid and wine, and a kinnen new slain ; 
That 's guid for an auld man. 



240 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Cam ye in to jeer, or cam ye in to scorn, 
And what for cam ye in ? 

For bear-bread and water, I 'm sure, is much better- 
It 's ower guid for an auld man. 

Now the auld man's deid, and, without remeid, 

Into his cauld grave he 's gane : 
Lie still wi' my blessing ! of thee I hae nae missing 

I '11 ne'er mourn for an auld man. 

Within a little mair than three-quarters of a year, 
She was married to a young man then, 

Who drank at the wine, and tippled at the beer, 
And spent mair gear than he wan. 

black grew her brows, and howe grew her een, 
And cauld grew her pat and her pan : 

And now she sighs, and aye she says, 
I wish I had my silly auld man ! l 



ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT. 



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Guid day, now, bon - nie Ro - bin, How lang hae ye been 
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here? I've been a bird a - bout this bush This mair tban twenty 



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year. But now I am the sick - est bird That ever sat on 
1 From Kitson's Scottish Songs; 1793. 



ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT. 



241 



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brier; And 



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ta - merit, Guid- 



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man, if ye wad hear. 



Guid day, now, bonnie Robin, 
How lang hae ye been here I 

I 've been a bird about this bush 
This mair than twenty year. 

But now I am the sickest bird 

That ever sat on brier ; 
And I wad mak my testament, 

Guidman, if ye wad hear. . 

Gar tak this boimie neb o' mine, 
That picks upon the corn ; 

And gie 't to the Duke o' Hamilton, 
To be a hunting-horn. 

Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine, 

The feathers o' my neb ; 
And gie to the Lady Hamilton, 

To fill a feather-bed. 

Gar tak this guid richt leg o' mine, 
And mend the brig o' Tay ; 

It will be a post and pillar guid, 
It will neither bow nor [gae]. 

And tak this other leg o' mine, 
And mend the brig o' Weir ; 

It will be a post and pillar guid, 
It will neither bow nor steer. 



242 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine, 

The feathers o' my tail ; 
And gie to the lads o' Hamilton 

To be a barn-flail. 

And tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine, 
The feathers o' my breast ; 

And gie them to the bonnie lad, 
Will bring to me a priest. 

Now in there cam my Lady Wren, 
Wi' mony a sigh and groan, 

what care I for a' the lads, 
If my ain lad be gone ! 

Then Kobin turn'd him round about, 

E'en like a little king ; 
Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door, 

Ye little cutty-quean. 1 



THE WREN. 



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The wren scho lyes in care's bed, In 



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care's bed, in care's bed; The wren scho lyes in care's bed, In 



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meikle dnle and pyne, 0. When in cam Robin Red-breist, 
1 From Herd's Collection, 1776. 



THE WREN. 



243 



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Redbreist Eedbreist ; When in cam Rob -in Redbreist, Wi' 



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sue - car saps and wine, 0. 

The wren scho lyes in care's bed, 

In care's bed, in care's bed ; 
The wren scho lyes in care's bed, 

In meikle dule and pyne, O. 
When in cam Kobin Eedbreist, 

Eedbreist, Eedbreist ; 
When in cam Eobin Eedbreist, 

Wi' succar-saps and wine, 0. 

Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this, 

Taste o' this, taste o' this ; 
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this ? 

It 's succar-saps and wine, O. 
Na, ne'er a drap, Eobin, 

Eobin, Eobin ; 
Na, ne'er a drap, Eobin, 

Though it were ne'er sae fine, 0. 



And where 's the ring that I gied ye, 

That I gied ye, that I gied ye ; 
And where 's the ring that I gied ye, 

Ye little cutty-quean, O ? 
I gied it till a soger, 

A soger, a soger ; 
I gied it till a soger, 

A true sweetheart o' mine, O. 1 



From Herd's Collection. 



244 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



BABITY BOWSTER. 



Wha learned you to dance, Bab - i-ty Bowster, Bab-i-ty Bowster, 






Wha learned you to dance, Bab - i - ty Bowster, braw - ly ? 

Wha learned you to dance, 

Babity Bowster, Babity Bowster, 

Wha learned you to dance, 
Babity Bowster, brawly ? 

My minny learned me to dance, 
Babity Bowster, Babity Bowster, 

My minny learned me to dance, 
Babity Bowster, brawly. 

Wha ga'e you the keys to keep, 
Babity Bowster, Babity Bowster, 

Wha ga'e you the keys to keep, 
Babity Bowster, brawly ? 

My minny ga'e me the keys to keep, 
Babity Bowster, Babity Bowster, 

My minny ga'e me the keys to keep, 
Babity Bowster, brawly. 

As sung by girls playing on the streets, in Glasgow. 



JENNY'S BABEE. 



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ae ha - bee. There 's your plack and my plack, And 



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your plack and my plack, And my plack and your plack, And 
Chorus. 



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Jen - ny's ba - hee. And a' that e'er my, &c. 



And a' that e'er my Jenny had, 
My Jenny had, my Jenny had, 
And a' that e'er my Jenny had, 
Was ae babee. 



There 's your plack and my plack, 
And your plack and my plack, 
And my plack and your plack, 
And Jenny's babee. 



246 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

We '11 put it ill the pint stoup, 
The pint stoup, the pint stoup, 
"We '11 put it in the pint stoup, 
And birl 't a' three. 1 

Jenny's Bdbee is one of the simple rants which once had such 
popularity in Scotland — greatly exceeding in that respect strains 
by noted authors, charged with finest poetry and solidest sense. 
It is not even apparent what Jenny's babee means, whether an 
actual halfpenny, appreciated by a child, or metaphorically a 
young lady's fortune. The air was one often used as a dance. 
"Within the present century two improved songs on the theme 
of Jenny's Babee have been offered for popular favour ; one of 
considerable effect, in a comic vein, by Sir Alexander Boswell ; 
another of a sentimental cast, for which the melody is given in 
slow time with surprisingly good effect. 

1 From Herd's Collection. 




FIENT A CRUM OF THEE SHE FAWS. 

Our sentimental series opens with an elegy of unreturned 
affection by Alexander Scott, a poet who flourished in the time 
of Queen Mary, and wrote so elegantly and so copiously on 
amatory subjects that he has been called the Scottish Anacreon. 
Of the personal life of Scott we know literally nothing. We 
find, however, that he addressed a New-year's congratulation to 
his fair young sovereign, on the first occurrence of the festival 
after her return to Scotland, wherein it appears that he did not 
sympathise strongly with the puritanic spirit which was then 
recently introduced into Scotland. 

This specimen of Alexander Scott's poetry was recovered by 
Allan Ramsay, and printed by him, with some inexcusable 
corruptions, in the Tea-table Miscellany, 1 724 ; likewise in the 
collection which he called the Evergreen. The verses here given 
are those which Lord Hailes extracted from the Bannatyne 
Manuscript. The air is one assigned to the song in Johnson's 
Scots Musical Museum. ' 



250 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 








bide where thou was wont to be ; The 



art ane fule, to 



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suf - fer pain, For luve of her that luves not thee : My 



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mak thee cause ; And let her seek ane heart for thee ; For 

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Keturn thee hameward, heart, again, 

And bide where thou was wont to be ; 
Thou art ane fule, to suffer pain, 

For luve of her that luves not thee : 
My heart, let be sic fantasie, 

Luve nane but as they mak thee cause 
And let her seek ane heart for thee ; 

For fient a crum of thee she faws. 

To what effect should thou be thrall 
But thank, sin' thou has thy free will ? 

My heart, be not sae bestial, 
But knaw wha does thee guid or ill. 



HEY, NOW THE DAY DAWS ! 251 

Remain with me and tarry still, 

And see wha playis best their paws, 
And let fillock gae fling her fill, 

For fient a crum of thee she faws. 

Though she be fair, I will not fenzie, 

She is the kind of others mae ; 
For why ? there is a fellow menzie, 

That seemis gnid and are not sae. 
My heart, tak nowther pain nor wae, 

For Meg, for Marjory, or yet Manse, 
But be thou glad and let her gae ; 

For fient a crum of thee she faws. 

Because I find she took in ill, 

At her departing thou mak nae care ; 
But all beguiled, go where she will, 

Ashrew the heart that mane maks mair ! 
My heart, be merry late and air, 

This is the final end and clause ; 
And let her fallow ane filly fair, 

For fient a crum of thee she faws. 



HEY, NOW THE DAY DAWS ! 

Dunbar, in one of his poems, ridicules the common minstrels 
of Edinburgh for having but two tunes : 

Your commone nienstralis has no tone, 
But Now the Day Daws, and Into June. 

This, of course, establishes that there was a popular air, called 
Now the Day Daws, as early as the beginning of the sixteenth 
century. We have, however, no copy of any tune so named 
before one which appears in Gordon's manuscript Lute-book, 
1627 ; and the earliest song so entitled is one which appears in 
the works of Alexander Montgomery (died between 1607 and 



252 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

1611). In the present collection, it has been thought proper to 
present two of the seven verses of Montgomery's song, as giving 
some idea of what was thought presentable song-minstrelsy in 
the reign of James VI. — the refined lays of the lady's bower, in 
contrast to the rude rants which sprang up among the common 
people. 

Hey, now the day dawis, 
The jolly cock crawis, 
Now shrouds the shawis, 

Through nature anon ! 
The thrissle-cock cryis 
On lovers wha lyis ; 
Now skales the skyis ; 

The night is near gone ! 

The season excellis, 

Through sweetness that smellis ; 

Now Cupid compellis 

Our heartis each one. 
On Venus, wha wakis 
To muse on our maikis, 
Syne sing, for their sakis, 

The night is near gone ! 

Mr David Laing, in his notes on Johnson's Museum (p. 534), 
has presented the notes of The Day Dawis from the Lute-book ; 
but has failed to observe that it differs from the rhythm of 
Montgomery's song, so that it is impossible to sing the one to 
the other. This tune, indeed, is of a tinkling artificial character, 
full of oddly abrupt transitions, perhaps well adapted for the 
lute, but utterly unlike the flowing character of those melodies 
to which the Scottish songs in general are sung. We are, 
therefore, forced to conjecture that either the air has been incor- 
rectly transcribed from the antiquated notation of the original, 
or there were two songs of different metrical structure, called 
The Day Dawis. 



THE BANKS OF HELICON. 253 

Mr Stenhouse, seeing the suitableness of Montgomery's song 
for the tune called Hey Tuttie Taittie I did not hesitate to assume 
that the latter was the true ancient tune of The Day Dawis, 
alluded to by the poet Dunbar. For this, however, there is no 
authority, any more than there is for the ' tradition ' reported by 
Burns, that Hey Tuttie Taittie was Bruce's march at Bannock- 
burn. All that we know of this notable melody is, that we find 
it in connection with a Jacobite song, beginning ' Here 's to the 
king, sir,' and which has been included in our Historical Series. 



THE BANKS OF HELICON. 

In what is called the Maitland Manuscript (Pepys's Collection, 
Cambridge) — that is, a transcribed assemblage of poems of the 
sixteenth century, which we owe to Sir Richard Maitland and 
perhaps some other members of his family — appears a song 
called The Banks of Helicon, in the complicated measure which 
Montgomery in that age exemplified in The Clierry and the Slae, 
and which Burns was the last to employ (Epistle to Davy, &c). 
It is the composition of a learned pen, and celebrates the charms 
of a mistress, with classic references, in a style approaching 
idolatry, but is not without a certain poetical verve far from 
displeasing. Modern literary antiquaries seem to think it 
possibly a composition of Alexander Montgomery, seeing it is 
in metre and some other respects so like his undoubted com- 
position The Cherry and the Slae. Montgomery is believed to 
have died between 1607 and 161 1. 

Several musical manuscripts of the early part of the seventeenth 
century x present a tune called The Banks of Helicon, indicated in 
one as a work of Mr Andrew Blackhall, minister of Inveresk, 
who died in 1609, at the age of 73, and appears to have been 

1 See Sibbald's Chronicle of Scottish Poetry, iii. 191. Stenhouse' s Notes 
to Johnson's Museum, p. 406. Laing's Additional Notes to Stenhouse, 
p. *453, and Introduction, p. lxxxiii. 



254 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



a skilful musician, as there is extant a piece of five-part music 
for the ioist psalm, stated to have been composed 'by Maister 
Andro Blakehall in Halyrudehouse, 1569, and giffen in propyne 
to the kyng.' As this air perfectly suits the song in the Maitland 
Manuscript, there can be little doubt that the one was composed 
for the other. It seems, therefore, allowable to give in this place 
a selection from the somewhat tedious verses of the song, in 
connection with the air ; a fair specimen of the formal, well-bred, 
but not very engaging chamber minstrelsy of the reign of the 
Sixth James. 



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THE BANKS OF HELICON. 



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Declare, ye banks of Helicon, 
Parnassus hill, and dales ilk one, 

And fountain Cabellein, 
Gif ony of your Muses all 
Or nymphis may be peregal 

Unto my lady sheen. 
Or if the ladies that did lave 
Their bodies by your brim, 
So seemly were or yet so suave, 
So beautiful or trim. 
Contemple, example 

Tak by her proper port, 
Gif ony so bonnie 
Among you did resort. 

No, no : forsooth was never none 
That with this perfect paragon, 

In beauty might compare. 
The Muses wad have given the grie 
To her, as to the A-per-se 

And peerless pearl preclair. 
Thinking with admiration 

Her person so perfyte, 
Nature in her creation 

To form her took delight. 



256 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Confess then, express then, 
Your nymphs and all their race, 

For beauty, of duty, 

Sould yield and give her place. 



FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 

In the burial ground of Kirkconnell, near the Border, is the 
grave of Helen Irving, recognised by tradition as Fair Helen of 
Kirkconnell, and who is supposed to have lived in the sixteenth 
century. It is also the grave of her lover, Adam Fleming — a 
name that once predominated in the district. Helen, according 
to the narration of Pennant, ' was beloved by two gentlemen at 
the same time. The one vowed to sacrifice the successful rival 
to his resentment, and watched an opportunity while the happy 
pair were sitting on the banks of the Kirtle, that washes these 
grounds. Helen perceived the desperate lover on the opposite 
side, and fondly thinking to save her favourite, interposed ; and, 
receiving the wound intended for her beloved, 
fell and expired in his arms. He instantly 
revenged her death ; then fled into Spain, 
and served for some time against the Infidels : 
on his return, he visited the grave of his 
unfortunate mistress, stretched himself on it, 
and expiring on the spot, was interred by 
her side. A cross and a sword are engraven 
on the tombstone, with "Hie Jacet Adamus 
Fleming ; " the only memorial of this 
unhappy gentleman, except an ancient ballad 
of no great merit, which records the tragical event.' x 

1 Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1772, vol. ii. 101. According to a note 
in Graham's Songs of Scotland (iii. 172), the tombstone presents only the 
engraving of a sword, along with some letters now unintelligible, while 
the remains of an upright cross stand by. The above transcript from the 
stone would seem to shew that Pennant's description was correct. 





lies. On fair Kirk - con-nell lee. 



I wish I were where Helen lies, 
For night and day on me she cries, 
I wish I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 

Curst be the hand that shot the shot, 
Likewise the gun that ga'e the crack, 
Into my arms Burd Helen lap, 
And died for love of me. 

Oh, think na ye my heart was sair, 
To see her lie and speak nae mair ! 
There did she swoon wi' mickle care, 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 

1 loutit down, my sword did draw, 
I cuttit him in pieces sma', 
I cuttit him in pieces sma', 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 



Oh, Helen fair, without compare, 
I '11 mak a garland o' thy hair, 
And wear the same for evermair, 
Until the day I dee. 
Q 



258 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

I wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet put ower my een, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 

Oh Helen chaste, thou were modest ; 
Were I with thee I wad be blest, 
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 

I wish I were where Helen lies, 
For night and day on me she cries ; 
I wish I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirkconnell lee. 

The above is chiefly from the traditionary copy preserved by 
Mr Charles K. Sharpe, as he had been accustomed to hear it sung 
in Annandale in his childhood. 1 It is nearly the same with one 
presented in the Statistical Account of the parish, 1794. A 
version in the Border Minstrelsy gives the second verse thus : 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms Burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me — 

being manifestly an editorial improvement. 

The copy in the Statistical Account is prefaced with a number 
of verses, apparently of genuine antiquity, but referring to an 
earlier period of the story, and in an inferior strain of poetry. 
They are repeated in the Border Minstrelsy as a first part of the 
ballad : 

My sweetest sweet, and fairest fair, 

Of birth and worth beyond compare, 

Thou art the causer of my care, 
Since first I loved thee. 

1 Additions to Stenhouse : Johnson's Museum, ii. 210*. 



FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 259 

Yet God hath given to me a mind, 
The which to thee shall prove as kind 
As any one that thou shalt find 
Of high or low degree. 

Yet, nevertheless, I am content, 
And ne'er a whit my love repent, 
But think my time it was weel spent, 
Though I disdained be. 

The shall'est water makes maist din, 
The deepest pool the deadest lin, 
The richest man least truth within, 
Though he disdained be. 

Helen fair, without compare, 

1 '11 wear a garland of thy hair, 
Shall cover me for evermair, 

Until the day I die. 

O Helen sweet and maist complete, 
My captive spirit 's at thy feet, 
Thinks thou still fit thus for to treat 
Thy prisoner with cruelty ? 

O Helen brave ! this still I crave, 
On thy poor slave some pity have, 
And do him save, that 's near his grave, 
And dies for love of thee ! 1 

Odd as the idea is, one could almost suppose that these verses 
were intended to express the feelings of the unsuccessful lover 
while pressing his suit. 

1 [Sinclair's] Stat. Ace. Scot., xiii. 275. 



260 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



CROMLET'S LILT. 

The traditionary story connected with this song has been con- 
fusedly handed down to us ; but the facts probably were to the 
following general purport. Chisholm of Cromlecks, in Perth- 
shire, was ardently attached to a daughter of Stirling of Ardoch, 
commonly called from her beauty Fair Helen of Ardoch. The 
pair lived during the reign of James VI. Obliged to go abroad 
for some years as a soldier of fortune, Cromlecks left a commission 
with a friend, for the conducting of a correspondence between 
himself and his mistress, who could not write ; and the natural 
result was, that the friend became himself the lover of Helen, 
and, when other means failed, possessed her with a belief that 
Cromlecks had forgot, or become indifferent to her ; so that she 
was induced to give an unwilling assent to the suit of the new 
lover. 

After suffering much in spirit, Helen submitted to a marriage 
with the traitor, but had scarcely gone to bed that evening, when 
she started frantically from it, screaming out that, after three 
gentle taps on the wainscot at the bed-head, she had heard 
Cromlecks's voice crying, ' Helen, Helen, mind me ! ' Cromlecks 
soon after coming home, the treachery was discovered ; the 
marriage annulled ; and Helen became Lady Cromlecks. 1 



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CROMLET'S LILT. 



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Since all thy vows, false maid, 
Are blown to air, 

And my poor heart betrayed 
To sad despair, 

Into some wilderness, 

My grief I will express, 

And thy hard heartedness, 
O cruel fair ! 

Have I not graven our loves 
On every tree, 

In yonder spreading groves, 

Though false thou be ? 

Was not a solemn oath 

Plighted betwixt us both, 

Thou thy faith, I my troth, 
Constant to be ? 



Some gloomy place I '11 find, 

Some doleful shade, 

Where neither sun nor wind 

E'er entrance had : 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Into that hollow cave, 
There will I sigh and rave, 
Because thou dost behave 
So faithlessly. 

Wild-fruit shall be my meat, 

I '11 drink the spring ; 

Cold earth shall be my seat : 
For covering 

I '11 have the starry sky, 

My head to canopy, 

Until my soul on high 

Shall spread its wing. 

I '11 have no funeral fire, 

Nor tears for me : 

No grave do I desire, 

Nor obsequies : 

The courteous redbreast, he 

With leaves will cover me, 

And sing my elegy, 

With doleful voice. 

And when a ghost I am, 

I '11 visit thee, 

thou obdured dame, 

Whose cruelty 

Hath killed the kindest heart 

E'er pierced by Cupid's dart ; 

No grief my soul shall part 

From loving thee. 

HER REPLY. 
He whom I most affect 

Doth me disdain ; 
His causeless disrespect 

Makes me complain : 



CROMLET'S LILT. 263 

Wherefore I '11 me address 
Into some wilderness, 
Where unheard I '11 express 

My anxious pain. 

Did we not both conjure 

By Stygian lake, 
That sacred oath most pure 

The gods did take, 
That we should both prove true : 
You to me, I to you, 
By that most solemn vow 

We both did make ? 

But thou perfidiously 

Didst violate 
Thy promise made to me, 

To my regret ; 
For all the great respeet, 
Wherewith I thee affect, 
Is paid with such neglect, 

Love 's turned to hate. 

What tyrant e'er could hatch, 

Though inhumane, 
A torturing rack and match 

To this my pain ? 

barbarous cruelty, 
That I, for loving thee, 
Should basely murdered be 

By thy disdain ! 

1 '11 go find out a celL 

Where light ne'er ehined : 
There I '11 resolve to dwell, 

And be confined, 



264 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Until it pleaseth thee 
With love to pity me, 
Forsake thy cruelty, 

And prove more kind. 

In that dark vault I '11 call 

For bats and owls ; 

The starth-owl, worst of all 

Prodigious fowls, 

Shall be jny mate by day ; 

By night with her I '11 stay, 

In dark and uncouth way, 

'Mongst wandering souls. 

And in that strange exile 

I '11 thee arrest, 

Amongst those monsters vile, 
To be my guest, 

Until that thou relent, 

And thy hard heart repent, 

Freely to give consent 

To my request. 

No cloth shall deck my skin, 

No raiment soft, 
But haircloth rough and thin, 

That 's comely wrought : 
No bed will I lie on, 
My pillow shall be a stone, 
Each accent prove a groan 
Repeated oft. 

No dainty dish I '11 eat, 

Composed by art, 

No sauces for my meat, 

Sweet, sour, or tart : 



ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 265 

My food shall be wild-fruits, 
Green herbs, and unboiled roots, 
Such as poor hermits eat 

In wild deserts. 

All solace, mirth, and game 

I will despise ; 
A doleful mourning, then, 

With watery eyes, 
Shall be my music sound, 
Till all the hills resound, 
And fill the valleys round 

With piteous cries. 

Yet for all this I '11 not 

Abandon thee, 
Nor alter in a jot 

My first decree, 
But, in despite of fate, 
Thy griefs to aggravate, 
I '11 love thee, though thou hate, 

Until I die. 

The first part of this song appeared in the Orpheus Caledonius, 
1733, and has often been reprinted in our collections : the second 
part was given from an old broadside, by Mr James Maidment, 
in his Scottish Songs and Ballads, 1859. 



ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



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266 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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sair to hear thee weep. 

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep, 
It grieves me sair to hear thee weep : 
If thou 'It be silent, I '11 be glad, 
Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. 
Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy, 
Thy father bred me great annoy. 

Baloo, my dear, lie still and sleep, 
It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. 

Baloo, my darling, sleep a while, 
And when thou wakest, sweetly smile ; 
But smile not as thy father did, 
To cozen maids, may God forbid ; 
For in thine eye his look I see, 
The tempting look that ruined me. 

When he began to court my love, 
And with his sugared words to move, 
His tempting face and flattefang cheer, 
In time to me did not appear ; 



ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 267 

But now I see that cruel lie 
Cares neither for his babe nor me. 

Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youtli 
That ever kissed a woman's mouth, 
Let never any after me, 
Submit unto thy courtesie : 
For if they do, O cruel thou 
Wilt her abuse and care not how. 

I was too credulous at the first, 

To yield thee all a maiden durst, 

Thou swore for ever true to prove, 

Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love ; 

But quick as thought, the change is wrought, 

Thy love 's no more, thy promise nought. 

I wish I were a maid again, 

From young men's flattery I 'd refrain ; 

For now unto my grief I find, 

They are all perjured and unkind ; 

Bewitching charms bred all my harms, 

Witness my babe lies in my arms. 

* * * + 

Baloo, my boy, weep not for me, 
Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee, 
Nor pity her deserved smart, 
Who can blame none but her fond heart : 
For too soon trusting latest finds 
With fairest tongues are falsest minds. 

Baloo, my boy, thy father's fled, 
When he the thriftless son has played ; 
Of vows and oaths forgetful he 
Preferred the wars to thee and me ; 
But now perhaps thy curse and mine 
Makes him eat acorns with the swine. 



26S SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

But curse him not, perhaps now he, 
Stung with remorse, is blessing thee : 
Perhaps at death — for who can tell 
Whether the Judge of heaven and hell, 
By some proud foe, has struck the blow, 
And laid the dear deceiver low. 

I wish I were within the bounds, 

Where he lies smothered in his wounds, 

Repeating, as he pants for air, 

My name, whom once he called his fair ; 

No woman 's yet so fiercely set, 

But she '11 forgive, though not forget. 



Baloo, my boy, I '11 weep for thee ; 

Too soon, alas ! thou 'It weep for me : 

Thy griefs are growing to a sum, 

God grant thee patience when they come ; 

Born to sustain thy mother's shame, 

A hapless fate, a bastard's name. 

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep, 
It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. 

It was the belief of Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, founded 
on family traditions, supported by a passage in Father Hay's 
Manuscripts, 1 that this pathetic ballad was designed to embody 
the woes of a real sufferer by unfaithful love, a Mistress Anne 
Bothwell, daughter of the bishop of Orkney, who performed 
the Protestant nuptial ceremony over Mary in her union with 
the Earl of Bothwell, and afterwards made himself contemptible 
by appearing as evidence against her at York. 2 The lover was 
the lady's cousin, the Hon. Alexander Erskine, a younger son 

1 Advocates' Library. 

2 No Anne Bothwell appears in the meagre article on the family in 
Wood's Peerage. The lady is more likely to have been a granddaughter 
of the bishop. 



ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 269 

of the seventh Earl of Marr by his second marriage. Mr Sharpe 
described a family portrait of this gentleman, as shewing him 
* extremely handsome, with much vivacity of countenance, dark- 
blue eyes, a peaked beard, and moustaches.' l The time of the 
incident was early in the seventeenth century : Erskine would 
be a youth arrived at majority about 1620. In Broome's comedy 
of The Northern Lass, printed in 1632, there occurs a fragment 
of the ballad, probably as first composed : 

Peace, wayward bairn, O cease thy moan, 
Thy far more wayward daddy 's gone ; 
And never will recalled be 
By cries of either thee or me. 

For should we cry 

Until we die, 
"We could not scant his cruelty. 
Baloo, Baloo, &c. 

The injured lady was thought to be avenged in the course of 
Providence, for Alexander Erskine, having joined the Cove- 
nanters, was one of the Earl of Haddington's party at Dunglass 
House, August 1640, when, by the vengeful treachery of a page, 
the place was blown up, and nearly all within perished. 

Mr Dauney (Ancient Melodies, p. 286) transfers from a manu- 
script in the Advocates' Library, a song which bears a marked 
resemblance in style of thought and composition to Anne 
BothweUs Lament : 



THOU WILT NOT GO AND LEAVE ME HERE. 

Thou wilt not go and leave me here, 
O do not so, my dearest dear ; 
The sun's departing clouds the sky, 
But thy departing makes me die. 

1 Additions to Stenhouse's Notes on Johnson's Musical Museum, 
ii. *204. 



270 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Thou canst not go, my dearest heart, 
But I must quit my choicest part, 
For with two hearts thou must be gone, 
And I shall stay at home with none. 

Meanwhile, my part shall be to mourn, 
Telling the hours while thou return ; 
My eyes shall be but eyes to weep, 
And neither eyes to see nor sleep. 

Prevent the hazard of this ill, 
Go not at all, stay with me still ; 
I '11 bathe thy lips with kisses then, 
And look for more ease back again. 

Since thou wilt needs go, well, away ! 
Leave, leave one heart with me to stay ; 
Take mine, let thine in pain remain, 
That quickly thou may come again. 

Farewell, dear heart, since it must be, 
That thou wilt not remain with me ; 
My greatest grief it still shall be, 
I love a love that loves not me. 



I DO CONFESS THOU'RT SMOOTH AND FAIR. 



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I DO CONFESS THOU'RT SMOOTH AND FAIR. 271 



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wor - thy to be loved by none. 

I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, 
And I might have gone near to love thee ; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer 
That lips could speak, had power to move thee 

But I can let thee now alone, 

As worthy to be loved by none. 



I do confess thou 'rt sweet, yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 

Thy favours are but like the wind, 
That kisses everything it meets. 

And since thou can with more than one, 

Thou 'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 



272 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, 
Arm'd with her briers, how sweetly smells ! 

But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
Her sweets no longer with her dwells ; 

But scent and beauty both are gone, 

And leaves fall from her, one by one. 

Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, 
When thou hast handled been a while ; 

Like sere flowers to be thrown aside, 
And I will sigh, while some will smile, 

To see thy love for more than one 

Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 

This song appears in Playford's Select Ay res, 1659, under the 
title of a ' Song to his Forsaken Mistress, set to music by Henry 
Lawes.' Although in no respect a Scotch song, it is usually 
printed in Scottish collections, and represented as a composition 
of Sir Kobert Ayton, secretary to Queen Anne, the consort of 
James I. The resemblance of the style of sentiment and diction 
to Anne BothwelVs Lament can scarcely be overlooked. It is also 
remarkable that the preceding song, Thou wilt not go, &c, is 
included in a collection of Sir Bobert's poems, edited by Charles 
Bogers (Edin. 1844). If Ayton was the author of the two latter 
songs, he might also have written Anne BothwelVs Lament. Sir 
Bobert Ayton, who was a Scotsman by birth, died in London in 
1638, aged sixty-eight. 



GUID NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YOU A'. 

The two touching stanzas which follow, are given by Sir 
Walter Scott in his Border Minstrelsy, as those which tradition 
has preserved of the Good-night or Farewell of one of the Arm- 
strongs, about to be executed for his concern in the murder of 
Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, warden of the Middle Marches 
of the Border of Scotland, an incident which happened in June 



GUID NIGHT, AND JOY BE Wl' YOU A'. 



273 



1600. 

usually played at the breaking up of convivial parties. It was 
in especial favour with Burns, who says in one of his letters : 
'Ballad-making is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever 
fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I '11 e'en canter it away till 
I come to the limit of my race (God grant that I may take the 
right side of the winning-post !), and then, cheerfully looking 
back on the honest folks with whom I have been happy, I shall 
say or sing, " Sae merry as we a' hae been ! " and raising my 
looks to the whole of the human race, the last words of the voice 
of Coila shall be, " Good-night, and joy be wi' you a' ! '" To this 
tune the bard wrote his well-known Farewell to the Brethren of 
the Mason Lodge, Torbolton. 



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hope your 're a' 



my 



friends as yet ; Good- 



msm 



night, and joy 



be 



you 



1 It appears amongst Playford's Scotch Tunes, 1700. 

R 



274 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



0, this is my departing time, 

For here nae langer maun I stay ; 

There 's not a friend or foe o' mine 
But wishes that I were away. 

What I hae done for lack o' wit, 

I never, never can reca' ! 
I hope you 're a' my friends as yet ; 

Good-night, and joy be wi' you a' 



OLD LONG SYNE. 

Burns thought the phrase, Auld Lang Syne, ' exceedingly expres- 
sive.' Its expressiveness in connection with the social feelings 
of the Scotsman — hallowing, as it were, all ordinary relations, 
and especially that of love — had struck the mind of a poet long 
before the days of the Ayrshire Ploughman. Probably as early 
as the reign of Charles I., its associations were conveyed in a 
song of many stanzas, which has been traced in broadsides prior 
to the close of the seventeenth century, and was gathered into 
James Watson's Collection, 171 1. This song was as follows : 



EEBEsIf 



s 



s 



E* 



Should old ac - quaint - ance be for - got, And 



$^mm ^rwm M 



t=CF 



nev - er thought up 



on, The flames of love ex- 



OLD LONG SYNE. 



275 



S^PPP^ PPS 



thy kind heart now grown so cold In that lov-ing breast of 



P^S 



^s 



s&s 



thine, That thou canst nev - er once re - fleet On 



Wi-^M" 



Ef 



F •- 



33 



old Ions 



syne ? 



FIRST PART. 

Should old acquaintance be forgot, 

And never thought upon, 
The flames of love extinguished, 

And freely past and gone ? 
Is thy kind heart now grown so cold 

In that loving breast of thine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 

On old long syne ? 

Where are thy protestations, 

Thy vows, and oaths, my dear, 
Thou mad'st to me and I to thee, 

In register yet clear ? 
Is faith and truth so violate 

To th' immortal gods divine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 

On old long syne ? 

Is 't Cupid's fears, or frosty cares, 
That makes thy spirits decay 1 

Or is 't some object of more worth 
That 's stolen thy heart away ? 



276 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Or some desert makes thee neglect 
Him, so much once was thine, 

That thou canst never once reflect 
On old long syne ? 

Is 't worldly cares, so desperate, 

That makes thee to despair ? 
Is 't that makes thee exasperate, 

And makes thee to forbear ? 
If thou of that were free as I, 

Thou surely should be mine ; 
If this were true, we should renew 

Kind old long syne. 

But since that nothing can prevail, 

And all hope is in vain, 
From these dejected eyes of mine 

Still showers of tears shall rain : 
And though thou hast me now forgot, 

Yet I '11 continue thine, 
And ne'er forget for to reflect 

On old long syne. 

If e'er I have a house, my dear, 

That truly is call'd mine, 
And can afford but country cheer, 

Or ought that 's good therein ; 
Though thou were rebel to the king, 

And beat with wind and rain, 
Assure thyself of welcome, love, 

For old long syne. 

SECOND PART. 

My soul is ravish'd with delight 
When you I think upon ; 

All griefs and sorrows take the flight. 
And hastily are gone ; 



OLD LONG SYNE. 277 

The fair resemblance of your face 

So fills this breast of mine, 
No fate nor force can it displace, 

For old long syne. 

Since thoughts of you do banish grief, 

When I 'm from you removed ; 
And if in them I find relief, 

"When with sad cares I 'm moved, 
How doth your presence me affect 

With ecstasies divine, 
Especially when I reflect 

On old long syne. 

Since thou hast robb'd me of my heart, 

By those resistless powers 
Which Madam Nature doth impart 

To those fair eyes of yours, 
With honour it doth not consist 

To hold a slave in pyne ; 
Pray let your rigour, then, desist, 

For old long syne. 

'Tis not my freedom I do crave, 

By deprecating pains ; 
Sure, liberty he would not have 

Who glories in his chains : 
But this I wish — the gods would move 

That noble soul of thine 
To pity, if thou canst not love, 

For old long syne. 

Allan Rainsay fructified upon the hint afforded by the 
touching refrain of Auld Lang Syne, and produced a song of 
more moderate length, which William Thomson gave with 
music in his Orpheus Caledonius, and which may be found so 



278 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



accompanied in Johnson's Museum. We cannot say much for 
Ramsay's verses ; but one may be selected as a favourable 
specimen : 

Me thinks, around us, on each bough, 

A thousand Cupids play ; 
Whilst through the groves I walk with you, 

Each object makes me gay. 
Since your return the sun and moon 

"With brighter beams do shine, 
Streams murmur soft notes while they run, 

As they did lang syne. 

Burns afterwards produced a brief and most expressive song 
involving the idea, most part being his own composition ; and 
this song, to the tune of I Feed a Lass at Martinmas, has found 
a lodgment in the hearts of Scotsmen in all parts of the 
earth, and must there remain while the words continue to be 
understood. It is appended here for the sake of the contrast 
with the elder song. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



P 



m 



^^ 



m 



)' 4 g 



t—t- 



Should auld acquaintance be for - got, And nev - er brought to 



^ 



^^¥^* 



mind? Should auld ac - quaint -ance 



for - got, And 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



279 



^^m^s^^ tSs±ti 



I 



§4- 

auld lang syne; We'll tak' a cup o' kind-ness yet, For 



*=te 



^ 



$E3^ 



auld lang syne. 



Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to mind ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne ; 
We '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa ha'e run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine, 
But we 've wandered mony a weary foot, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 

We twa ha'e paidelt in the burn, 

Frae morning sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 

And here 's a hand, my trusty fere, 

And gi'e 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak' a richt-gude-willie waught, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 



280 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup, 
And surely I '11 be mine ; 

And we '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 



WALY, WALY. 

The song now to be introduced is one of the most beautiful and 
affecting in the whole range of the national minstrelsy. There 
appears no room to doubt that it forms part of a ballad composed 
upon an unhappy incident in the history of the great family of 
Douglas. James the second marquis, of the time of Charles II., 
was no very competent supporter of the credit and dignity of the 
line. There seems to have been an inclination on his part at 
one time to wed the daughter of 'Widow Jack, a taverner at 
Perth ;' but he subsequently (September 1670) took to wife the 
Lady Barbara Erskine, daughter of the ninth Earl of Marr. 
Owing, there can be little doubt, to his lordship's unworthy 
conduct, the alliance was productive of misery to the lady. She 
had even to bewail that her own honour was brought into 
question, chiefly, it would appear, through the influence of a 
chamberlain over her husband's mind. At length a separation 
with a suitable provision left her in the worst kind of widow- 
hood, after she had brought the marquis one son (subsequently 
first commander of the Cameronian regiment, and who fell at 
the battle of Steenkirk). The verses are the lament of the 
unfortunate marchioness after the separation, and seems to have 
formed part of a ballad reciting her unfortunate case, and which 
has latterly been recovered. 



O WALY, WALY, 



281 



* 



JE J^^^^g^^ 



wa - ly, vva - ly up the bank, And wa - ly, wa - ly 



|te 



m 



V=^ 



m 



^5 



« 



down the brae, And wa - ly, wa - ly yon burn-side, Where 



p^ii 



§^eS=£ 



and my love wont to gae ! I lean'd my back un- 



p^^^^^^m^^ 



^m 



an aik, I thoucht it was a trus - ty tree ; But 



S 



fr 



^=* 



* ■ / 



rJ/- 



first it bow'd, and syne it brak : Sae my true love did 



wm 



^ 



-cr — * 

licht - ly me. 

waly, waly up the bank, 1 
And waly, waly down the brae, 

And waly, waly yon burn-side, 
Where I and my love wont to gae ! 

1 lean'd my back unto an aik, 

I thoucht it was a trusty tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak : 
Sae my true love did lichtly me. 



Waly, a Scottish exclamation of distress. 



282 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

waly, waly, but love be boimie 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when it 's auld it waxes cauld, 

And fades away like the morning dew. 

wherefore should I busk ] my heid, 
Or wherefore should I kame my hair '] 

For my true love has me forsook, 
And says he '11 never love me mair. 

Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 

The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me, 
St Anton's "Well 2 shall be my drink, 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
O, gentle death, when wilt thou come ? 

For of my life I am wearie ? 

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry : 

But my love's heart 's grown cauld to me. 
When we came in by Glasgow toun, 

We were a comely sicht to see ; 
My love was clad in the black velvet, 

And I mysel in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kissed, 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, 
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 

1 Dress, arrange. 

2 Arthur's Seat is a hill near Edinburgh, forming part of the chase 
which surrounds the royal palace of Holyrood. St Anton's, or St 
Anthony's Well, is a small crystal spring proceeding from the side of 
Arthur's Seat, and taking its name from a hermitage half-way up the 
hill, which it formerly supplied with water. 



BLINK OVER THE BURN, SWEET BETTY. 

Oh, oh ! if my young "babe were born, 
And set npon the nurse's knee, 

And I mysel were dead and gane, 

And the green grass growing over me ! ] 



283 



BLINK OVER THE BURN, SWEET BETTY. 



s 



EEEt 



3=S 



^ 



£ 



Blink ov - er 



the 



burn, sweet Bet - ty, It 




pii^igmppp 



moon she 




sake o' sweet Betty, That ev - er 



tint my 



1 This last line is substituted from an old nurse's copy, for one less 
delicate and pathetic, which has always hitherto been printed. The song 
appeared first in the Tea-table Miscellany, marked with the signature 
Z, indicating that the editor did not know its age. 



284 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



1*1: 



m 



f=K 



f-t 



:& 



jt-52. 



way : O 



las - sie [gie me some shel - ter] Un- 



f=P= 



fzzzt 



til it 



be 



break 



day. 



Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

It is a cauld winter night ; 
It rains, it hails, and it thunders, 

The moon she gi'es nae light : 
It 's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty, 

That ever I tint my way ; 
O lassie [gie me some shelter] 

Until it be break o' day. 

Betty shall bake my bread, 

And Betty shall brew my ale, 
And Betty shall be my love, 

When I come over the dale ; 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me ; 
And while I ha'e life, my dear lassie, 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be. 

There have been songs with some such phrase as ' Blink over 
the bum, sweet Betty,' for their groundwork, from- comparatively 
an early period. Dr Kimbault traces the expression as far back 
as the reign of Henry VIII., soon after which it was moralised 
into a religious parody, beginning : 

Come over the burn, Bessy, thou pretty little Bessy, 

Come over the burn, Bessy, to me ; 
The burn is this world blind, and Bessy is mankind, &c. 

There was also a political parody, in which England hailed the 
advent of Elizabeth to the throne : 



SAW YE MY FATHER. 285 

I am thy lover fair, hath chose thee to mine heir, 

And my name is merry England ; 
Therefore come away, and make no more delay, 

Sweet Bessy, give me thy hand. 

At what time the idea made its way into Scotland we cannot 
tell ; but the Orpheus Caledonius gives the air, with more than 
one set of verses. On this occasion, we pass over these refined 
hut dull compositions, and give an old rustic Scotch song in 
connection with the melody. 1 

In Eitson's Scottish Songs (1794) appears the following stanza 
for Blink over the Bum. sweet Betty : 

In simmer I mawed my meadow, 

In harvest I shure my corn, 

In winter I married a widow, 

I wish I was free the morn. 

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me ; 
O it is a thousand pities 

But I was a widow for thee ! 



SAW YE MY FATHER. 

The following romantic song occurs in Herd's Collection, 1776; 
but an English version of it is traced by Mr William Chapell 2 
to a work called the Songster's Companion, of a few years' earlier 
date, and the air appears in Thompson's Collection of Country 
Dances, 1775. Mr Chapell evidently considers it as an English 
song, which has been transplanted in a Scotch form to the 
north of the Tweed. It is remarkable for relating an adventure 
of nocturnal courtship in a manner free of vulgarity ; which is 
not a circumstance very characteristic of Scottish song literature. 
Still the nativity of the song may fairly be held as matter of doubt. 

1 This old song has been preserved by Mr Stenhouse in his Notes on 
Johnson's Museum, p. 54 

2 See ChapelPs Music of the Olden Time, where a copy of the English 
version is printed. 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



=M 



p=i=^^a 



^=j^ 



saw ye my fath - er, or 



saw ye my 




saw not your fath - er, I saw not your mother, But 



p^B g^j 



I saw your true love John.' 

' saw ye my father, or saw ye my mother, 

Or saw ye my true love John 1 ' 
' I saw not your father, I saw not your mother, 

But I saw your true love John.' 

' It 's now ten at night, and the stars gi'e nae light, 

And the bells they ring ding dong ; 
He 's met with some delay, that causeth him to stay ; 

But he will be here ere long.' 

The surly auld carle did naething but snarl, 

And Johnie's face it grew red ; 
Yet, though he often sighed, he ne'er a word replied, 

Till all were asleep in bed. 

Up Johnie rose, and to the door he goes, 

And gently tirled at the pin. 
The lassie, taking tent, unto the door she went, 

And she opened and let him in. 



LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 287 

' And are ye come at last, and do I hold ye fast ? 

And is my Jolmie true V 
1 1 have nae time to tell, but sae lang 's I like mysel, 

Sae lang sail I love you.' 

' Flee up, flee up, my bonnie gray cock, 

And craw whan it is day : 
Your neck shall be like the bonnie beaten gowd, 

And your wings of the silver gray.' 

The cock proved fause, and untrue he was ; 

For he crew an hour ower sune. 
The lassie thought it day, when she sent her love away, 

And it was but a blink o' the mime. 



LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 

This is a song which may be safely set down to the end of 
the seventeenth century, as a broadside copy of it, which from 
some appearances is of that date, occurs in the Roxburghe Collec- 
tion in the British Museum. It seems to have been designed 
to embody a rustic bard's view of the chief places along the 
valley of the Leader, in Berwickshire, with complimentary 
references to some of them, particularly to Thirlstain Castle, 
the seat of the Earls of Lauderdale, which, he says, 

stands as sweet on Leader side 

As Newark does on Yarrow. 

There is some fancy in introducing the lapwing, the lark, and 
the hare, as vehicles for the panegyrics of the poet. Notwith- 
standing, too, a certain grammatical roughness, most Scotsmen 
will be sensible of a charm in the flow of the verses, which, in 
their structure and euphony, and even in some of the local 
names, as Burnmill, and the constant refrain of Yarrow, have 
evidently acted as an inspiration and a model to the bard of 
Rydal Mount, in his exquisite series of poems beginning with 
Yarrow Unvisited. Regarding the authorship, the song itself 



288 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



leaves us not in doubt, as it introduces him under the name of 
Minstrel Burne — a curious coincidence with the name of the 
greatest of our national bards. The Burne of Leader Haughs 
may be presumed from the term ' Minstrel/ and the feeling he 
expresses for the gentry of the district, to have been one who 
made his bread by wandering from house to house with a fiddle — 

Companion of his lonely way — 
wherewith to cheer the firesides at which he was entertained. 
This, indeed, is made more clear to us by the Roxburghe copy 
of the song, at the end of which is appended : 

' The words of Burne the Violer,' 

followed by three verses not heretofore printed. I was informed 
by an aged person at Earlstoun in 1 826, that there used to be a 
portrait of Minstrel Burne in Thirlstain Castle, representing him 
as ' a douce auld man, leading a cow by a straw-rope.' 

Pepys, in his Diary, under July 1666, has the following : 'To 
my Lord Lauderdale's house to speak with him, and find him 
and his lady, and some Scotch people, at supper. But at supper 
there played one of their servants upon the violin some Scotch 
tunes only ; several, and the best of their country, as they seem 
to esteem them, by their praising and admiring them ; but, 
Lord ! the strangest ayre that ever I heard in my life, and all 
of one cast.' Could this performer be Minstrel Burne ? 



I 



£5 



iEz£3: 



jouici mis periormer oe. jvimsirei .mime 5 

3 1 — EEE5E p ^/ T -^ — f~^^ 

n*u i* i- ..'"Li- ii, - „„,,..« «i,:^« wui, ^. rt i^«^ ,.,-„r,-, ^.« 



1 



When Phosbus bright the azure skies With golden rays en- 



£ 



iz 



=3 



= ^- z=at H 



W 



* 



light'neth, He makes all na - tare's beau - ties rise, Herbs, 



ji^g 



mm 



m 



trees, and flowers he quick'neth : A - mongst all those he 



LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 



289 



fEFr^^ ^ pa^^ 



makes his choice, And with de - light goes thor - ow, With 



i^ 



^ 



diant beams, the 



sil 



streams Of 



if^ j ^ 



¥ 



Lead - er Haughs and Y: 



When Phoebus bright the azure skies 

With golden rays enlight'neth, 
He makes all nature's beauties rise, 

Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick'neth 
Amongst all those he makes his choice, 

And with delight goes thorow, 
With radiant beams, the silver streams 

Of Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 

When Aries the day and night 

In equal length divideth, 
And frosty Saturn takes his flight, 

Nae langer he abideth ; 
Then Flora queen, with mantle green, 

Casts aff her former sorrow, 
And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel, 

In Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 



Pan, playing on his aiten-reed, 
And shepherds, him attending, 

Do here resort, their flocks to feed, 
The hills and haughs commending ; 

s 



290 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

With cur and kent, upon the bent, 
Sing to the sun, Good-morrow, 

And swear nae fields mair pleasures yield, 
Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 

A house there stands on Leader-side, 

Surmounting my descriving, 
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair, 1 

Like Daedalus' contriving : 
Men passing by do aften cry, 

In sooth it hath no marrow ; 
It stands as fair on Leader-side 

As Newark does on Yarrow. 

A mile below, who lists to ride, 

Will hear the mavis singing ; 
Into St Leonard's banks she bides, 

Sweet birks her head owerhinging. 
The lint-white loud, and Progne proud, 

With tuneful throats and narrow, 
Into St Leonard's banks they sing, 

As sweetly as in Yarrow. 

The lapwing lilteth ower the lea, 

With nimble wing she sporteth ; 
But vows she '11 flee far from the tree 

Where Philomel resorteth : 
By break of day the lark can say, 

I '11 bid you a good-morrow ; 
I '11 stretch my wing, and, mounting, sing 

O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 



1 Variation in Koxburghe Collection : 

With ease rooms rair and windows fair. 



LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 291 

Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-cleuch, 

The East and Wester Mainses, 
The wood of Lander 's fair eneuch, 

The corns are good in the Blainslies : l 
There aits are fine, and said by kind, 

That if ye search all thorough 
Mearns, Bnchan, Marr, nane better are 

Than Leader Hanghs and Yarrow. 

In Burn-mill-bog and Whitslaid Shaws, 

The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
Brig-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws, 

And Chapel-wood frequenteth : 
Yet, when she irks, to Kaidslie Birks, 

She rins, and sighs for sorrow, 
That she should leave sweet Leader Haughs, 

And cannot win to Yarrow 

What sweeter music wad ye hear, 

Than hounds and beagles crying '? 
The started hare rins hard with fear, 

Upon her speed relying : 
But yet her strength it fails at length ; 

Nae bielding can she borrow, 
In Sorrowless-fields, Clackmae, or Hags ; 

And sighs to be in Yarrow. 

1 There used to be two sorts of oats in Scotland — the dour, or late 
seed, and the early seed. ' The early were of two sorts : one from Blain- 
slie, in Lauderdale, and the other from the Fans, in the adjacent district 
of the Merse. Once in every four or five years, most of the Lothian 
farmers got a boll or two of them from one or other of these two places, 
from which they raised on their best lands as much seed as in two or 
three years at furthest supplied their whole farm.' — Robertson's Rural 
Recollections. ' Three villages called Blainslies, remarkable for their fine 
oats, which are carried to the most parts of the kingdom, and some 
of them to the south of London : they are regarded not so much for 
their whiteness, as for their earliness and increase ; they are commonly 
sold three or four shillings above the ordinary rate of the market.' — 
Rev. A. Milne's Account of Melrose Parish, 1743. 



292 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

For Rockwood, Ring wood, Spotty, Shag, 

With sight and scent pursue her ; 
Till, ah, her pith begins to flag ; 

Nae cunning can rescue her : 
Ower dub and dyke, ower sheuch and syke, 

She '11 rin the fields all thorough, 
Till, fail'd, she fa's in Leader Haughs, 

And bids fareweel to Yarrow. 

Sing Erslington * and Cowdenknowes, 

Where Humes had ance commanding ; 
And Drygrange, with the milk-white yowes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing : 
The bird that flees through Redpath trees 

And Gladswood banks ilk morrow, 
May chant and sing sweet Leader Haughs 

And bonnie howms of Yarrow. 

But Minstrel Burne can not assuage 

His grief, while life endureth, 
To see the changes of this age, 

Which fleeting time procureth : 
For mony a place stands in hard case, 

Where blithe folk ken'd nae sorrow, 
With Humes that dwelt on Leader-side, 

And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow. 

The following are the three additional verses as given in the 
Roxburghe Collection : 

THE WORDS OF BURNE THE VIOLER. 

What, shall my viol silent be, 

Or leave her wonted scriding ? 
But choise some sadder elegie, 

Not sports and mirds deriding. 

1 Earlstoun, formerly spelled Ercildoun. 



LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 293 

It must be fain with lower strain, 

Than it was wont before, 0, 
To sound the praise of Leader Haughs 

And the bonnie banks of Yarrow. 

But floods has overflown the banks, 

The greenish haughs disgracing, 
And trees in woods grows thin in ranks, 

About the fields defacing. 
For waters waxes, woods do waind ; 

More, if I could for sorrow, 
In rural verse I could rehearse 

Of Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 

But sighs and sobs o'ersets my breath, 

Sore saltish tears forth sending, 
All things sublunar here on earth 

Are subject to an ending. 
So must my song, though somewhat long, 

Yet late at even and morrow 
I '11 sigh and sing sweet Leader Haughs 

And the bonnie banks of Yarrow. 

Hie terminus haeret. 

It may be remarked that a line in these verses serves to 
localise the poet as connected with Lauderdale, Thomas the 
Rhymer of Earlstoun having long before said : 

The waters shall wax, and the woods shall wane, 
But the bannock '11 be ne'er the braider. 



294 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



OMNIA VINCIT AMOR. 



^ ^ ^ Ed=E gJ ^ p ^^ ^l 



--II 



As I went forth to view the spring, Which Flora had a ■ 



ppii 



N— N 



g= 



dorn-^d In gorgeous rai-ment, eve -ry- thing A 



SEEE 



^r^? 



m^ 



f 



tf 



ter's rage out - scorn- fed; I cast mine eye, and 



ffe^sfe^ 



u 



did es - py A youth that made great clamour, And, 



i& 



^^ 



i 



^=^=p= 



riM i * 



** 



draw -ing nigh, I heard him cry, Ah, Om-ni-a vin-cit 



PP 



As I went forth to view the sprint 
Which Flora had adorned 

In gorgeous raiment, everything 
A winter's rage outscorned ; 



OMNIA VINCIT AMOR. 295 

I cast mine eye, and did espy 

A youth that made great clamour, 
And, drawing nigh, I heard him cry, 

Ah, Omnia vincit amor I 

Upon his breast he lay along, 

Hard by a murmuring river, 
And mournfully his doleful song 

With sighs he did deliver : 
* On Jeanie's face lies comely grace, 

Her locks that shine like lammer, 
With burning rays have cut my days — 

For Omnia vincit amor ! 

' Her glancy een, like comet's sheen, 

The morning sun outshining, 
Have caught my heart in Cupid's net, 

And made me die with pining. 
Durst I complain, Nature 's to blame 

So curiously to frame her, 
Whose beauties rare make me, with care, 

Cry, Omnia vincit amor ! 

1 Ye crystal streams that swiftly glide, 

Be partners of my mourning ; 
Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide, 

Condemn her for her scorning. 
Let every tree a witness be 

How justly I may blame her ; 
Ye chanting birds, note these my words, 

Ah ! Omnia vincit amor ! 

1 Had she been kind as she was fair, 

She long had been admired, 
And been adored for virtues rare, 

Who 'f life now makes me tired.' 



296 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

This said, his breath began to fail, 
He could not speak, but stammer ; 

He sighed full sore, and said no more 
But, Omnia vincit amor I 

When I observed him near to death, 

I ran in haste to save him, 
But quickly he resigned his breath, 

So deep the wound love gave him ; 
Now, for her sake, this vow I '11 make, 

My tongue shall aye defame her ; 
While on his hearse I '11 write this verse, 

Ah, Omnia vincit amor I 

Straight I considered in my mind, 

Upon the matter rightly, 
And found, though Cupid he be blind, 

He proves in pith most mighty. 
For warlike Mars and thundering Jove, 

And Vulcan with his hammer, 
Did ever prove the slaves of love, 

For Omnia vincit amor ! 

Hence we may see th' effects of love, 

Which gods and men keep under, 
That nothing can his bonds remove, 

Or torments break asunder ; 
Nor wise nor fool need go to school, 

To learn this from his grammar ; 
His heart 's the book where he 's to look 

For Omnia vincit amor ! 

The idea of a song with Omnia vincit amor for its burden is as 
old at least as the reign of Charles I., for such is the title of one 
of the tunes in the Skene Manuscript. The present composition 
cannot be traced further back than to a broadside apparently of 
King William's time, which is inserted in the Koxburghe 



THE BIRKS OF ABERGELDY. 



297 



Collection (British Museum). Ramsay gave it a place in his 
Tea-table Miscellany, with the signature Q., to denote that it was an 
old song with alterations. It was presented, with its tune, in 
Johnson's Museum — not, however, the tune called Omnia Vincit 
Amor in the Skene Manuscript. 

The style of the verse, and even of the grammar and syntax, 
as well as the introduction of heathen deities, bring us strongly 
in remembrance of the preceding song, Leader Haughs and 
Yarrow. Most probably, therefore, Omnia Vincit Amor is 
another of Minstrel Burne's productions. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERGELDY. 



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298 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
To the Birks of Abergeldy ? 



THE BIRKS OF ABERGELDY. 299 

ye shall get a gown o' silk, 
A gown o' silk, a gown o' silk ; 
ye shall get a gown o' silk, 
And a coat o' calimanco. 



Na, kind sir, I darena gang, 
I darena gang, I darena gang ; 
Na, kind sir, I darena gang, 
For my minnie she '11 be angry. 

Sair, sair wad she flyte, 
Wad she flyte, wad she flyte, 
Sair, sair wad she flyte, 

And sair wad she bang me. 

This is one of the simple old songs of Scotland, conveying 
little meaning, but yet, with the aid of a good melody, more 
facile to sing than many superior compositions. It is localised 
to Aberdeenshire, for Abergeldy is a beautiful district on Dee- 
side, once the property of a gentleman named Gordon, but now 
that of her Majesty Queen Victoria, being adjacent to the royal 
residence of Balmoral. The birch was long ago the natural 
and abundant wood of the district, and must have formed an 
attractive scene for the imagination of the poetical lover ; but 
it has for many years been superseded by oak and other more 
profitable timber. An air styled The Birks of Abefgeldie appears 
in Playford's Collection, 1700. 

The rustic simplicity of the Birks, the gown 0' silk, and coat 
0' calimanco, proved unsatisfactory to the more refined lovers 
of Scottish song in the last century, and accordingly we find in 
Herd, under the title of the air Birks of Abergeldy, a long and 
rather common-place ditty, in which a gentleman bewails the 
disappointments incidental to the married state — as follows, for 
example : 



300 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Alack a day, what will I do, 
What will I do, what will I do ? 
Alack a day, what will I do, 

The honey month is done, jo ! 
My glittering gold is all turned dross, 
And siller scarcely will be brass, 
I 've nothing but a bonnie lass, 

And she 's quite out of tune, jo ! 

Finally, came Burns, with his beautiful song in compliment 
to a place of nearly the same name in a different part of the 
Highlands : 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy ? 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; 
Come, let us spend the lichtsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, &c. 

While o'er their head the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lichtly flit on wanton wing, 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foamin' stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreadin' shaws, 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 






JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE. 301 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow'rs, 
White ower the lin the burnie pours, 
And, risin', weets wi' misty show'rs 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 



Let fortune's gifts at random flee^ 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely bless'd wi' love and thee, 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 



JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE. 

The song which follows appeared in Kamsay's Tea-table 
Miscellany and in the Orpheus Caledonius, and has usually been 
included in subsequent collections. Burns learned somewhere, 
from the voice of tradition, that the John Hay in question was 
no less a person than the first Marquis of Tweeddale, and the 
bonnie lassie his lordship's daughter Margaret, who became 
Countess of Koxburghe, and died at Broomlands, near Kelso, 
January 23, 1753, after a widowhood of seventy-two years. 1 The 
present editor, in the course of his wanderings in Scotland many 
years ago, heard the same story, with the addition that the song 
was the composition of a working-joiner, who had vainly lifted 
his poetical fancy to the level of a marquis's daughter. Both 
statements, however, must be taken with reservation. The 
locality assumed 'by smooth- winding Tay' does not suit a 
connection with the family of Tweeddale. 

1 Her ladyship's husband, Robert, Earl of Roxburghe was lost in the 
Gloucester frigate, on Yarmouth Sands, in coming down to Scotland with 
the Duke of York, May 7, 1682. 



302 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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lang - er : Then I '11 take a heart, and try at a 



JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE. 



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vows may con - tent her. 



By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining, 
Aft cried lie, Oh, hey ! niann I still live pining 
Mysel thus away, and daurna discover 
To my bonnie Hay, that I am her lover ! 

Nae mair it will hide ; the flame waxes stranger ; 
If she 's not my bride, my days are nae langer : 
Then I '11 take a heart, and try at a venture ; 
May be, ere we part, my vows may content her. 

She 's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, 

When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good-morrow : 

The sward of the mead, enamell'd with daisies, 

Looks wither'd and dead, when twined of her graces. 

But if she appear where verdure invite her, 

The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter. 

'Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a-flowing : 

Her smiles and bright eyes set my sjnrits a-glowing. 



The mair that I gaze, the deeper I 'm wounded ; 
Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded : 
I 'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye ; 
For a' my desire is John Hay's bonnie lassie. 



304 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH. 

The following song is a noted example of those composed by 
English wits in imitation of the Scots Manner, and which were, 
with little discrimination, accepted as Scots songs in Scotland 
itself. It is wholly of English origin ; the verses by Thomas 
D'Urfey, and the air by Mr James Hook, elder brother of the 
celebrated wit Theodore Hook. The verses (of which the pre- 
sent is a slightly altered copy) first appeared in the collection 
of songs called Wit and Mirth, 1698. 



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Bonnie Jockey, blithe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jen-ny, making hay, The 



WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH. 



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can - not, can -not, won -not, won -not, man - not buckle to. : 



'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, 

In the rosy time of the year ; 
Sweet flowers bloom' d, and the grass was down, 
And each shepherd woo'd his dear. 
Bonnie Jockey, blithe and gay, 
Kiss'd sweet Jenny, making hay, 
The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, 'No, no, it will not do ; 
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to.' 

Jockey was a wag that never would wed, 
Though long he had followed the lass ; 
Contented she earned and ate her brown bread, 
And merrily turn'd up the grass. 
Bonnie Jockey, blithe and free, 
Won her heart right merrily : 
Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, 'No, no, it will not do ; 
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to.' 

But when he vow'd he would make her his bride, 

Though his flocks and herds were not few, 
She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, 
And vow'd she 'd for ever be true. 
Bonnie Jockey, blithe and free, 
Won her heart right merrily : 
At church she no more frowning cried, ' No, no, it will not do ; 
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to.' 



306 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



KATHERINE OGIE. 

As an Anglo-Scottish production, this may be considered as a 
twin-piece with Within a Mile of Edinburgh, although we only 
have a rude sketch of it in D'Urfey's Collection. 1 The present 
version, in which the English origin is apparently obscured by 
its having passed through a Scottish alembic, is from the Tea- 
table Miscellany. The air, a very beautiful one, has been brought 
conspicuously forward, in consequence of Burns having composed 
to it his exquisite elegiac song of Highland Mary. 



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on a morn - ing ear - ly, While May's sweet scent did 






cheer my brain, From flowers which grow so rare - ly, 



1 Of the original there presented, the opening verse, in all its peculiar- 
ities of spelling, may be given as a curiosity : 

As I cam down by Hay Land town, 



There was lasses many 
Sat in a rank, on either bank, 

And ane more gay than any ; 
Ise leekt about for ane kind face, 

And Ise spy'd Willy Scroggy ; 
Ise speir'd of him what was her name, 

And he caVd her Kathem Loggy. 









KATHERINE OGIE. 



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As walking forth, to view the plain, 

Upon a morning early, 
While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain, 

From flowers which grow so rarely, 
I chanced to meet a pretty maid ; 

She shined, though it was foggy ; 
I ask'd her name : sweet sir, she said, 

My name is Katherine Ogie. 

I stood awhile, and did admire, 

To see a nymph so stately ; 
So brisk an air there did appear, 

In a country maid so neatly: 
Such natural sweetness she display'd, 

Like a lilie in a bogie ; 
Diana's self was ne'er array'd 

Like this same Katherine Ogie. 



Thou flower of females, beauty's queen, 
Who sees thee, sure must prize thee ; 

Though thou art drest in robes but mean, 
Yet these cannot disguise thee : 



SOS SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Thy handsome air, and graceful look, 
Far excels any clownish rogie ; 

Thou art a match for lord or duke, 
My charming Katherine Ogie. 



were I but some shepherd swain ! 
To feed my flock beside thee, 

At boughting-time to leave the plain, 
In milking to abide thee ; 

1 'd think myself a happier man, 

With Kate, my club, and dogie, 
Than he that hugs his thousands ten, 
Had I but Katherine 0»ie. 



Then I 'd despise the imperial throne, 

And statesmen's dangerous stations 
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown, 

I 'd smile at conquering nations : 
Might I caress, and still possess 

This lass, of whom I 'm vogie ; 
For these are toys, and still look less, 

Compared with Katherine Ogie. 

But I fear the gods have not decreed 

For me so fine a creature, 
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed 

All other works in nature. 
Clouds of despair surround my love, 

That are both dark and fogie ; 
Pity my case, ye powers above, 

Else I die for Katherine Ogie. 



ANNIE LAURIE. 



There is a song long popular in the south of Scotland, though 
only recently introduced into print, of which the following is an 
authentic copy : 



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Max -wel- ton banks are bon - nie, Where ear - ly fa's the 



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Lau - rie I '11 lay me doun and die. 

Maxwelton banks are bonnie, 

Where early fa's the dew ; 
Where me and Annie Laurie 

Made up the promise true ; 
Made up the promise true, 

And ne'er forget will I ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 

I '11 lay me doun and die. 



310 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

She's backit like the peacock ; 
She 's breistit like the swan ; 
She's jimp about the middle ; 

Her waist ye weel micht span : 
Her waist ye weel micht span, 
And she has a rolling eye ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I '11 lay me doun and die. 
Maxwelton is the mansion of a family of rank, beautifully 
situated on the side of the valley of the Cairn, in Dumfriesshire. 
It is believed that these verses were composed by a Mr Douglas 
of Fingland upon Anne, one of the four daughters of Sir Eobert 
Laurie, first baronet of Maxwelton — so created in 1685. The 
lady, it appears, was not destined to be won by her poetical 
lover, but became the wife of Mr Fergusson of Craigdarroch. 1 

A living lady of rank has produced a song on the basis of this 
original one, and which has attained a wide popularity. 2 



WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT I WAD DEE. 

Towards the end of the seventeenth century, the upper and 
more educated classes seem to have become sensible of the 
beauty of the national melodies, and probably saw that in 
many instances the substitution of pure for licentious verses was 
desirable. Now, accordingly, we find the beginning of a series 
of song-writers of aristocratic grade, the first being Lady Grizel 
Baillie, a lady who may almost be said to have a place in our 
national history on other accounts. She was the daughter of the 
celebrated Patrick Hume, whose destiny it was to attain the 

1 See a Ballad Book, Edinburgh, 1824 (being a small collection by Mr 
Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe), where the song was first printed. 

2 This, with the music, will be found in Wood's Songs of Scotland, 
iii. 24. 



WERE NA MY HEART LICHT I WAD DEE. 



si: 



rank of an earldom (Marchmont) and the highest state employ- 
ments under the regime of King William, but who, in the 
preceding reign, had been a proscribed fugitive and an exile. 
At a dark crisis, when compelled to seek concealment for weeks 
in the charnel-house of his family under Polwarth Church, his 
heroic daughter Grizel braved all dangers and supplied him with 
food. The narration of the affair, given by her daughter Lady 
Murray of Stanhope, is one of the most interesting in the 
language. 

Lady Grizel, who, in the happier days of her family, became 
the wife of Mr Baillie of Jerviswood (son of another sufferer 
under the House of Stuart), addicted herself to verse-making 
from an early age. Her daughter possessed a manuscript volume, 
which she had used in Holland, while residing there with her 
father, for jotting down snatches of song which she had composed. 
But of all her productions only two have as yet seen the light. 
The most important is a pathetic pastoral strain, which was 
published in her ladyship's lifetime in the Orpheus Caledonius. 
Lady Grizel died in 1 746, aged eighty-one. 



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doun the green gate, and come here a - way. 



312 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

There was anes a may, and she loo'd na men : 
She biggit her bonnie bouir doun i' yon glen ; 
But now she cries, Dule and a well-a-day ! 
Come doun the green gate, and come here away. 

When bonnie young Johnie cam over the sea, 
He said he saw naething sae bonnie as me ; 
He hecht me baith rings and monie braw things ; 
And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 

He had a wee titty that loo'd na me, 

Because I was twice as bonnie as she ; 

She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his mother, 

That were na my heart licht I wad dee. 

The day it was set, and the bridal to be : 
The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee. 
She main'd, and she graned, out o' dolour and pain, 
Till he vow'd that he ne'er wad see me again. 

His kin was for ane of a higher degree, 
Said, what had he to do wi' the like of me ? 
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnie : 
And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 

They said I had neither cow nor caff, 
Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff, 
Nor pickles o' meal rins through the mill-e'e ; 
And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 



His titty she was baith wylie and slee, 
She spied me as I cam ower the lea ; 
And then she ran in, and made a loud din ; 
Believe your ain een an ye trow na me. 



THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE. 313 

His bonnet stood aye foil round on his brow ; 
His auld ane look'd aye as well as some's new ; 
But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing, 
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. 

And now he gaes drooping about the dykes, 
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
The live-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his e'e ; 
And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 

Were I young for thee as I hae been, 

We should ha' been gallopin' down on yon green, 

And linkin' it on the lilie-white lea ; 

And wow gin I were but young for thee ! x 



THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE. 

The only other song of Lady Grizel Baillie which has been 
brought before the world is a fragment, but one breathing 
strongly of the soft and tender style of the author. The late 
Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe published it in a sheet, along 
with an air which his father had composed for it, at a 
surprisingly early period of life. 2 

0, the ewe-buchtin 's bonnie, baith e'ening and morn, 
When our blithe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn ; 
While we're milking, they're lilting, baith pleasant and clear — 
But my heart 's like to break when I think on my dear. 

the shepherds take pleasure to blow on the horn, 
To raise up their flocks o' sheep soon i' the morn ; 

On the bonnie green banks they feed pleasant and free, 
But, alas, my dear heart, all my sighing 's for thee ! 

1 From the Tea-table Miscellany, 1724. 2 For the air, see p. 455. 



314 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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THE YELLOW-HAIKED LADDIE. 



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The yellow-haired laddie sat on yon burn brae, 
Cries, Milk the ewes, lassie, let nane o' them gae ; 
And aye she milked and aye she sang, 
The yellow-haired laddie shall be my guidman. 
And aye she milked, &e. 

The weather is cauld, and my claithing is thin, 
The ewes are new clipped, they winna bught in ; 
They winna bught in, although I should die, 
yellow-haired laddie, be kind unto me. 
They winna bught in, &c. 



THE YELLOW-HAIRED LADDIE. 315 

The guidwife cries but the house, ' Jenny, come ben, 
The cheese is to mak, and the butter's to kirn.' 
Though butter and cheese and a' should sour, 
I '11 crack wi' my love for another half-hour — 
Ae half-hour, and we '11 e'en mak it three, 
For the yellow-haired laddie my husband shall be. 

This appears in the Tea-table Miscellany (1724), as the original 
simple rustic song to the beautiful melody of The Yellow-Haired 
Laddie. The air by itself had been published in Mrs Crockat's 
Music Book, in 1709. Eamsay composed a song to the air, 
beginning — 

' In April when primroses paint the sweet plain,' 

which is far from being devoid of merit : he also composed for it 
a song in The Gentle Shepherd — 

' When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill ' — 

a not less pleasing song. Yet it may be said that the old country 
ditty, which milkmaids used to sing, and which perhaps a 
milkmaid composed, has a superior charm to all that has been 
attempted to the same strain. 



THE YELLOW-HAIRED LADDIE. 

(ramsay's version). 

Tn April, when primroses paint the sweet plain, 

And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain, 

The yellow-haired laddie would oftentimes go 

To woods and deep glens where the hawthorn-trees grow. 

There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn, 
With freedom he sung his loves, evening and morn : 
He sung with so soft and enchanting a sound, 
That sylvans and fairies, unseen, danced around. 



316 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Tlie shepherd thus sung : ' Though young Maddie he fair, 
Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air ; 
But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing ; 
Her breath 's like the breezes perfumed in the spring ; 



' That Maddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth, 
Like the moon, was inconstant, and never spoke truth 
But Susie was faithful, good-humoured, and free, 
And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea. 



' That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dower, 
Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour.' 
Then sighing, he wish'd, would but parents agree, 
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be. 1 



THE WAUKLN' 0' THE FAULD. 

In the old rural economy of Scotland, it was necessary for a 
shepherd and one of the female servants of the farm to keep up 
a night-watch upon the ewe-bughts or fold, in order to prevent 
the weaned lambs from getting back to their dams. In the 
mild twilight nights of July, it was no great hardship to stay 
from eve till dewy morn in the open air, and when the pair 
were of congenial minds, still more if they were declared lovers, 
it was of course considered as a luxury. The occasion is com- 
memorated in a charming song by Kamsay, which forms the 
opening of his Gentle Shepherd. 

1 From the Tea-table Miscellany, 1724. 



THE WAUKIN' O' THE FAULD. 



317 



P^E F^^^ Jpggpfl 



My Peg-gie is a young thing, Just enter'd in her teens; Fair 






as the day, and sweet as May, Fair as the day, and always gay : My 



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Peg - gie speaks sae sweetly When - e'er we meet a - lane, I 



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rish nae mair to lay my care, I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare: My 



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she gars a' my spir - its glow At waukin' o' the fauld. 



31S SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

My Peggie is a young thing, 
Just enter'd in her teens ; 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fair as the day, and always gay : 
My Peggie is a young thing, 

And I 'm nae very auld, 
And weel I like to meet her at 
The waukin' o' the fauld. 



My Peggie speaks sae sweetly 

Whene'er we meet alane, 

I wish nae mair to lay my care, 

I wish nae mair o' a' that 's rare : 

My Peggie speaks sae sweetly, 

To a' the lave I 'm cauld, 
But she gars a' my spirits glow 
At waukin' o' the fauld. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly 

Whene'er I whisper love, 

That I look doun on a' the toun, 

That I look doun upon a croun : 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly, 

It maks me blithe and bauld, 
And naething gi'es me sic delight 
As waukin' o' the fauld. 

My Peggie sings sae saftly 
When on my pipe I play, 
By a' the rest it is confest, 
By a' the rest, that she sings best : 
My Peggie sings sae saftly, 

And in her sangs are tauld, 
With innocence, the wale o' sense, 
At waukin' o' the fauld. 



BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY. 



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They bigg'd a bower on 



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my fan - cy fal - ter. 

O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 

They are twa bonnie lasses ; 
They bigg'd a bower on yon burn brae, 

And theek'd it o'er with rashes. 
Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen, 

And thought I ne'er could alter ; 
But Mary Gray's twa pawky een, 

Gard a' my fancy falter. 



320 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Now Bessy's hair 's like a lint tap, 

She smiles like a May morning, 
When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap, 

The hills with rays adorning. 
White is her neck, soft is her hand, 

Her waist and feet fu' genty ; 
With ilka grace she can command 

Her lips ; O wow ! they 're dainty. 

And Mary's locks are like a craw, 

Her een like diamonds glances ; 
She 's aye sae clean, redd up, and braw, 

She kills whene'er she dances ; 
Blithe as a kid, with wit at will, 

She blooming, tight, and tall is ; 
And guides her airs sae gracefu' still, 

O Jove ! she 's like thy Pallas. 

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 

Ye unco sair oppress us, 
Our fancies jee between ye twa, 

Ye are sic bonnie lasses. 
Wae 's me ! for baith I canna get, 

To ane by law we 're stented, 
Then I '11 draw cuts, and tak my fate 

And be with ane contented. 

This song was composed by Allan Ramsay on the basis of a 
preceding one, of which he retained only the first four lines. 
The air, a lively one, is inserted in Playford's Collection, 1 700. 
There is a tradition that the two heroines were the daughters of 
respectable citizens of Perth, and that on the plague breaking 
out there, they retired to a rush-thatched cot or bower on the 
braes of Lednoch, where a lover of one or both visited them 
occasionally-, bringing provisions. Unfortunately he brought 
also the disease, which cut off both the damsels, and their bodies 



THE LAST TIME I CAM O'ER THE MUIR. 



321 



were buried together near their cot, on a spot which has been 
enclosed by a rail. 

A fragment of an original ballad on this painful tragedy has 
been preserved : 

They wadna lie in Methven kirkyard, 

Amang their gentle kin ; 
But they wad lie on Dronach haugh, 
To beak foment the sun. 

The discrepancy between the original story of Bessy Bell and 
Mary Gray, and Kamsay's lively song upon their distracting 
charms, is not easily to be accounted for. 



THE LAST TIME I CAM O'ER THE MUIR. 



The Skene Manuscript, written about 1630, contains an air 
entitled Alas, that I Cam o'er the Muir, and left my Love behind 
me, which, with some modifications, had survived to the time 
of Ramsay. He, probably finding it fitted with words unpresent- 
able to delicate ears, composed a new song to the air, altering 
the idea expressed in its title. This is not one of Allan's best 
productions ; but even Burns failed to supersede it with new 
verses. 



S 



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last time I cam 



the muir, 



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]eft my love 



hind me; Ye powers! what pains do 
u 



325 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 




mind me ! 



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Soon 



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beam - ing day en - su - ing, I met he - times my 



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love - ly maid In fit re - treats for woo - ing. 

The last time I cam o'er the muir, 

I left my love behind me ; 
Ye powers ! what pains do I endure 

"When soft ideas mind me ! 
Soon as the ruddy morn displayed 

The heaming day ensuing, 
I met betimes my lovely maid 

In fit retreats for wooing. 

Beneath the cooling shades we lay, 

Gazing and chastely sporting, 
Until the sun's last setting beam 

Was in the ocean glowing. 
I pitied all beneath the skies, 

Even kings, when she was nigh me ; 
In raptures I beheld her eyes, 

Which could but ill deny me. 



THE YOUNG LAIRD AND EDINBURGH KATIE. 323 

Should I be called where cannons roar, 

Where mortal steel may wound me, 
Or cast upon some foreign shore, 

Where dangers may surround me ; 
Yet hopes again to see my love, 

To feast on glowing kisses, 
Shall make my cares at distance move, 

In prospect of such blisses. 

In all my soul there 's not one place 

To let a rival enter : 
Since she excels in ev'ry grace, 

In her my love shall centre. 
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, 

Their waves the Alps shall cover, 
On Greenland ice shall roses grow, 

Before I cease to love her. 

The neist time I gang o'er the niuir, 

She shall a lover find me ;. 
And that my faith is firm and pure, 

Though I left her behind me ; 
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain 

My heart to her fair bosom ; 
There, while my being does remain, 

My love more fresh shall blossom. 



THE YOUNG LAIKD AND EDINBURGH KATIE. 

This song of Ramsay's introduces us to the social life of Edin- 
burgh, at a time when it was confined to the Old Town, and 
when the Hill — that is, the Castle Hill — was the only place 
available for a lover's promenade ; when, moreover, young ladies 
were accustomed, out of doors, to screen their faces with a plaid, 
the equivalent of the Spanish mantilla. 



324 

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SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Com - ing down the street, my joe? My 



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walk up to the Hill. 



THE YOUNG LAIRD AND EDINBURGH KATIE. 325 

Now wat ye wha I met yestreen, 

Coming down the street, my joe ? 
My mistress, in her tartan screen, 

Fu' bonnie, braw, and sweet, my joe ! 
My dear, quoth I, thanks to the nicht, 

That never wiss'd a lover ill, 
Sin' ye 're out o' your mither's sicht, 

Let 's tak' a walk up to the Hill. 

Oh, Katie, wilt thou gang wi' me, 

And leave the dinsome toun a while ? 
The blossom 's sprouting frae the tree, 

And a' creation 's gaun to smile. 
The mavis, nichtingale, and lark, 

The bleating lambs and whistling hynd, 
In ilka dale, green shaw, and park, 

Will nourish health, and glad your mind. 

Sune as the clear guidman o' day 

Does bend his mornin' draught o' dew, 
We '11 gae to some burn-side and play, 

And gather flouirs to busk your brow. 
We '11 pou the daisies on the green, 

The lucken-gowans frae the bog ; 
Between hands, now and then, we '11 lean 

And sport upon the velvet fog. 

There 's, up into a pleasant glen, 

A wee piece frae my father's tower, 
A canny, saft, and flowery den, 

Which circling birks have formed a bower. 
Whene'er the sun grows high and warm, 

We '11 to the caller shade remove ; 
There will I lock thee in my arm, 

And love and kiss, and kiss and love. 



326 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



KATIE'S ANSWER. 



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look at my love, Or 



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sir, but I '11 tyne my tocher ; Then, San - dy, ye '11 fret, And 



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wyte your puir Kate, Whene'er ye keek in your toom cof - fer. 

My mother 's aye glowrin' ower me, 
Though she did the same before me ; 

I canna get leave 

To look at my love, 
Or else she 'd be like to devour me. 



THE LASS O' PATIE'S MILL. 327 

Eight fain wad I tak' your offer, 
Sweet sir, but I '11 tyne my tocher ; 

Then, Sandy, ye '11 fret, 

And wyte your puir Kate, 
Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer. 

For though my father has plenty 
Of silver, and plenishing dainty, 

Yet he 's unco sweir 

To twine wi' his gear ; 
And sae we had need to be tenty. 

Tutor my parents wi' caution, 
Be wylie in ilka motion ; 

Brag weel o' your land, 

And, there 's my leal hand, 
Win them, I '11 be at your devotion. 1 



THE LASS O' PATIE'S MILL. 



Allan Ramsay, paying a visit to the Earl of Loudon at Loudon 
Castle, and riding out one day with his lordship, observed a 
rustic girl of uncommon beauty tedding hay in a field at a place 
called Pate's Mill. The consequence of the encounter was this 
song, adapted to a beautiful old air ; both of which were 
published in the Orpheus Galedonius. 

1 The tune for Katie's Aixswer is identical with an English country 
dance-tune, called A Health to Betty.— W. Chapell. 



328 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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The lass 



Pa - tie's 



Mill, 



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bon - nie, blithe, and gay, In spite o' 



wan - toned in her een. 



The lass o' Patie's Mill, 

Sae bonnie, blithe, and gay, 
In spite o' a' my skill, 

Has stown my heart away. 
When tedding of the hay, 

Bareheaded on the green, 
Love midst her locks did play, 

And wantoned in her een. 



WOE'S MY HEART THAT WE SHOULD SUNDER. 329 

Without the help of art, 

Like flowers that grace the wild, 
She did her sweets impart, 

Whene'er she spoke or smiled ; 
Her looks they were so mild, 

Free from affected pride, 
She me to love beguiled, 

I wished her for my bride. 

0, had I all that wealth, 

Hopetoun's high mountains fill, 
Insured lang life and health, 

And pleasure at my will ; 
I 'd promise and fulfil, 

That none but bonnie she, 
The lass o' Patie's Mill, 

Should share the same wi' me. 



WOE'S MY HEAKT THAT WE SHOULD SUNDER. 



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we should snn - der; To oth - ers I am 



330 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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cold 



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breaks my heart that we should sun - der. 

With broken words and downcast eyes, 

Poor Colin spoke his passion tender, 
And parting with his Grizzy cries, 

Ah woe 's my heart that we should sunder 
To others I am cold as snow, 

But kindle with thine eyes like tinder, 
From thee with pain I 'm forced to go, 

It breaks my heart that we should sunder. 

Chained to thy charms, I cannot range, 

No beauty now my love shall hinder, 
Nor time, nor place, shall ever change 

My vows, though we 're obliged to sunder. 
The image of thy graceful air, 

And beauties which invite our wonder, 
Thy lively wit, and prudence rare, 

Shall still be present though we sunder. 

Dear nymph, believe thy swain in this, 
You '11 ne'er engage a heart that 's kinder, 

Then seal a promise with a kiss, 

Always to love me, though we sunder. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 



331 



Ye powers, take care of my dear lass, 

That as I leave her I may find her. 
When that blessed time shall come to pass, 

We '11 meet again, and never sunder. 

This song was composed by Kamsay, to supersede a homely 
one which had long possessed popular favour. An air under the 
title of Alace my Heart that we should Sunder appears in Play- 
ford's Collection, 1700. There is also one, essentially different 
from the above, in the Skene Manuscript, under the title of 
Alace this Night that we suld Sinder. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

The old tune of the Highland Laddie, consisting of but one 
part, was fitted by Kamsay with the following words, and 
published in the Orpheus Caledonius. A second part was after- 
wards added. The song, however, has long been adapted by the 
irresistible will of the people to the air here subjoined. 



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The Low - land lads they think they're fine, But they're vain and 



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id - ly gaw-dy! How much un-like the graceful mien And 



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man - ly looks of my Highland lad - die. my bon - nie 



Highland lad - die, My handsome, charming, Highland lad -die! May 



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heaven still guard, and love re - ward, The Low -land lass and her 



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Highland lad - die 



The Lowland lads they think they 're fine, 

But O they 're vain and idly gawdy ! 
How much unlike the graceful mien 

And manly looks of my Highland laddie. 
O my bonnie Highland laddie, 
My handsome, charming, Highland laddie ! 
May heaven still guard, and love reward, 
The Lowland lass and her Highland laddie ! 

If I were free at will to choose 

To be the wealthiest Lawland lady, 

I 'd take young Donald without trews, 
With bonnet blue and belted plaidy. 

The brawest beau in borrows-toun, 
In a' his airs, with art made ready, 

Compared to him, he 's but a clown ; 
He 's finer far in 's tartan plaidy. 

O'er benty hill with him I'll run, 

And leave my Lawland kin and daddy ; 

Frae winter's cauld, and summer's sun, 
He '11 screen me with his Highland plaidy. 

Few compliments between us pass ; 

I ca' him my dear Highland laddie ; 
And he ca's me his Lawland lass, 

Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy. 



LOCHABER NO MORE. 



333 



Nae greater joy I '11 e'er pretend, 

Than that his love prove true and steady, 

Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end, 
While Heaven preserves my Highland laddie. 



LOCHABER NO MORE. 



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Jean, Where heart - some wi' her I ha'e mon - y a day 



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re - turn to Loch - a - ber no 



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334 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



p^gg^^^ S^ 



weir; Tho' borne on rough seas to a far dis - tant 



^sps^ipsp 



shore, May - be to re - turn to Loch - a - ber no more. 

Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean, 
Where heartsome wi' her I ha'e mony a day been ; 
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 
We '11 may-be return to Lochaber no more. 
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, 
And no for the dangers attending on weir ; 
Though borne on rough seas to a far-distant shore, 
May-be to return to Lochaber no more. 

Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind, 
No tempest can equal the storm in my mind ; 
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, 
There 's naething like leavin' my love on the shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained, 
But by ease that 's inglorious no fame can be gained, 
And beauty and love's the command of the brave, 
And I maun deserve it before I can crave. 

Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse ; 
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse ? 
Without it I ne'er could have merit for thee, 
And losing thy favour I 'd better not be. 
I gae, then, my lass, to win honour and fame, 
And if I should chance to come glorious hame, 
I '11 bring a heart to thee, with love running o'er, 
And then I '11 leave thee and Lochaber no more. 



This song is by Ramsay. The air is based upon a simple 



ETTRICK BANKS. 



335 



ballad air of one strain, called Lord Ronald my Son. There is 
another air called King James's March to Ireland, which has 
evidently been founded on the same ballad air. 

The pathos of Lochaber no More, when the song is well sung, 
usually has a powerful effect on Scotchmen, especially if they be 
at a distance from Scotland. There is a story constantly told 
and believed, to the effect that it was necessary for the officers 
of a Highland regiment in the West Indies to order the playing 
of this air by the band to be discontinued, on account of its 
fatal effect in creating home-sickness among the men. 



ETTRICK BANKS. 

All that is known of this delightful pastoral, and its air, is 
that they were inserted in the Orpheus Galedonius, 1725. 

i 



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On Et - trick banks, in a sum - raer's night, At 



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loam - ing, when the sheep drave hame, I met my lass 



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braw and tight, Came wad - ing, bare - foot, a' her lane ; 



p^ m=s=^==^ ^^^m 



My heart grew light, I ran, I flang My 



336 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



i 



s-e 



^^^sp 



about her 



y neck, And kissed and clapped her 



p^^ m^m=m 



there fu' lang ; My words they were na mon 

On Ettrick banks, in a summer's night, 

At gloaming, when the sheep drave hame, 
I met my lassie braw and tight, 

Came wading, barefoot, a' her lane ; 
My heart grew light, I ran, I flang 

My arms about her lily neck, 
And kissed and clapped her there fu' lang ; 

My words they were na mony feck. 

I said, My lassie, will ye go 

To the Highland hills, the Erse to learn ; 
I '11 baith gi'e thee a cow and ewe, 

When ye come to the brig o' Earn. 
At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash, 

And herrings at the Broomielaw, 
Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass, 

There 's gear to win ye never saw. 

All day when we have wrought enough, 

When winter frosts and snaw begin 
Soon as the sun gaes west the loch, 

At night when ye sit down to spin, 
I '11 screw my pipes and play a spring, 

And thus the weary night will end, 
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring 

Our pleasant summer back again. 



feck. 



TWEEDSIDE. 337 

Syne when the trees are in their bloom, 

And gowans glint o'er ilka field, 
I '11 meet my lass amang the broom, 

And lead you to my summer shiel. 
Then far frae a' their scornfu' din, 

That make the kindly hearts their sport, 
We '11 laugh and kiss, and dance and sing, 

And gar the langest day seem short. 



TWEEDSIDE, 



It would have been surprising if the beautiful stream which 
pervades the pastoral region of southern Scotland had not been 
taken up as a subject both by the musician and the poet. It 
was in reality so at a comparatively early period, if tradition is 
right in assigning the following canzonet to Lord Tester — born 
1645, died 1 7 13 — eventually the second Marquis of Tweeddale — 
a distinguished statesman of the reigns of William and Anne, and 
noted for his concern in promoting that union of the kingdoms 
which lost for the Tweed its only unenviable characteristic as 
the division between two portions of an island designed by 
nature to be one. It cannot be said that the four simple verses 
ascribed to Lord Yester are of signal merit ; yet it is possible 
that, with the aid of the beautiful melody, they might be tolerably 
effective. I have heard that when Lady Grizel Baillie sang this 
song, she generally drew tears from her auditory. 

When Maggie and I were acquaint^ 

I carried my noddle fa' hie ; 
Nae lintwhite in a' the gay plain, 

Nae gowdspink sae bonnie as she I 
I whistled, I piped, and I sang ; 

I wooed, but I cam nae great speed ; 
Therefore I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 



338 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

To Maggie my love I did tell, 

My tears did my passion express ; 
Alas ! for I lo'ed her ower weel, 

And the women lo'e sic a man less. 
Her heart it was frozen and canld ; 

Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
Therefore I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 

In the reign of George I., when our national melodies and 
songs were beginning to make their way into good company, 
there was a young gentleman named Robert Crawford, who 
manifested a decided gift in pastoral poesy. There has been 
some doubt as to his family, and even his Christian name ; 
but it may now be regarded as settled that he was not 
William Crawford of the Auchinames family, in Renfrewshire, 
as was at one time commonly set forth, but Robert Crawford, 
second son of Patrick Crawford of Drumsoy, in that county. 
Having an elder brother named Thomas, who was successively 
secretary to the embassy of the Earl of Stair, and envoy extra- 
ordinary to the court of Versailles, Robert came, by a natural 
train of circumstances, to spend some years in France, and it is 
believed that he died in returning from that country in the year 
1732. There is so much obscurity about him, that we are glad 
to lay hold of any tolerably well-authenticated fact which brings 
him as a reality before us ; and therefore I here recall that 
Mr Ramsay of Auchtertyre, writing to Robert Burns in 1787, 
speaks of a conversation he had just had with a Colonel Edmond- 
stone, who remembered being at his cousin Robert Crawford's 
funeral fifty-five years before. Colonel Edmondstone added the 
interesting particular, that he was ' a pretty young man.' 

Robert Crawford's poetical genius was entirely for the Scottish 
pastoral, an idealisation of the life of the hard-working peasantry 
of his native country into shepherds with pipes and crooks and 
coy damosels, seated among purling brooks and shady groves. 
His strains had at the same time a mellowness and flow — even 



TWEEDSIDE. 



339 



a tenderness — that suited well the rising taste of the people and 
the age. Crawford was pleased to sing of Tweed, the Bush aboon 
Traquair, and the Broom of the Cowdenknowes, instead of any of 
the less romantic scenes of his own west-country, as the follow- 
ing series of his pieces will evince. His song entitled Tweedside 
appeared with the music in his own lifetime, being presented 
in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. 



^ a bb^JEi g¥a=a 



What beau -ties does Flo - ra dis 



close ! How 



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sweet are her smiles up - on Tweed! Yet Ma-ry's, still 



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sweet - er than those, Both na-ture and fan - cy ex- 



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ceed. No dai 



sweet blushing rose, 






Not 

n. 



«l F=~- 



the gay flowers of the field, Not 



Tweed, glid - ing gent - ly through those, Such beau - ty and 



3 



plea - sure does yield. 



340 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

What beauties does Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! 
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 

Both nature and fancy exceed. 
No daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, 

Not all the gay flowers of the field, 
Not Tweed, gliding gently through those, 

Such beauty and pleasure does yield. 

The warblers are heard in the grove, 

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush ; 
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove, 

With music enchant ev'ry bush. 
Come, let us go forth to the mead ; 

Let us see how the primroses spring ; 
We '11 lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feather' d folk sing. 

How does my love pass the long day ? 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray 

While happily she lies asleep ? 
Should Tweed's murmurs lull her to rest, 

Kind nature indulgin' my bliss, 
To ease the soft pains of my breast, 

I 'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 

'Tis she does the virgins excel ; 

No beauty with her may compare ; 
Love's graces around her do dwell ; 

She 's fairest where thousands are fair. 
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ? 

Oh, tell me at morn where they feed ? 
Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay 

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed 1 

The tradition of Scottish society has preserved for us the 



TWEEDSIDE. 341 

object of Crawford's poetic affections in the person of Mary Scott, 
second daughter of John Scott of Harden. She was a woman 
of uncommon personal attractions, as is amply proved by a 
portrait of her by Allan Ramsay, junior, in Hamilton Palace — 
the subject of an almost raving admiration to Pennant, in his 
Tour of Scotland. It was about 1725 that Mary Scott was in the 
zenith of her charms, and Crawford was not the only bard who 
celebrated them. There was an old and now lost ditty, with a 
simple air of one strain, commemorating Mary Scott, ' the Flower 
of Yarrow,' as she was called — namely, a daughter of Scott of 
Dryhope in Yarrow, who married the famous Walter Scott of 
Harden in the time of Queen Mary, and who consequently was 
an ancestress of the now reigning beauty. On this strain, which 
was probably unfit for ears polite, Allan Ramsay built up a 
short song in his usual manner, designed as a compliment to 
the contemporary beauty, and repeating in her favour the title 
of ' the Flower of Yarrow,' in spite of its inappropriateness as 
regarded her nativity and residence. It begins thus : 

Happy the love which meets return, 
But mine meets only slight and scorn ; 
Oh, that I ne'er had seen yon tower, 
That shelters Yarrow's fairest flower ! 
'Mang circling hills that guard her hame, 
The bonnie loch's clear waters gleam, 
And there lives she whom nane can marrow, 
Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow. 1 

I had the advantage, many years ago, of hearing Sir Walter 
Scott speak of this poetic heroine, whom he called the Second 
Flower of Yarrow, as one whom he had himself known, although 

1 'L. M. M. R,.,' in Notes and Queries, March 18, 1854, gives a verse of 
the old song of Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow, as the only one he 
remembers : 

Mary 's black, and Mary 's white, 

Mary is the king's delight, 

The king's delight, the prince's marrow, 

Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow ! 



342 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

at rather an early period of his life. She was commonly recog- 
nised in fashionable circles by the name of Cadie Scott, from 
having once, by way of a girlish frolic, gone to a fancy-ball in the 
dress of a cadie, or street-porter. ' I remember her,' he said, ' as 
an old lady, distinguished for elegant manners and high spirit, 
though struggling with the disadvantages of a narrow income, 
as her father's estate, being entailed on heirs-male, went to 
another branch of the Harden family. I have heard a hundred 
times from those who lived at the time, that Tiveedside and Mary 
Scott the Flower of Yarrow, were both written upon this much 
admired lady.' Sir Walter added : ' The facts could not but be 
well known to me, as living in the utmost intimacy with the 
Harden family, and being descended from their eldest cadet, 
Scott of Eaeburn.' 1 



THE BUSH AEOON TRAQUAIR. 

At Traquair, in Peeblesshire, on a piece of sloping ground on 
the west side of the valley, a mile above the old mansion- 
house, was a grove of birches, such as might well form an assig- 
nation-ground for lovers. In what way it came to attract the 
attention of Robert Crawford — for the place is remote, and 
Robert, as connected with the Whig Earl of Stair, could, one 
would think, be little likely to visit the Stuart-devoted Traquair 
family — cannot be imagined. There, however, long after it has 
decayed away to a few melancholy stumps, it remains imperishable 
in his sweet pastoral strains. » 

1 The words here quoted, being quite consistent with my recollection 
of Sir Walter's conversation, are transcribed from a manuscript note 
by him upon a copy of Cromek's Reliques of Burns, formerly in the 
possession of Mr Samuel Aitken, bookseller, Edinburgh. 



THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 



343 



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Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev' - ry swain, I '11 



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tell how Peg - gy grieves me; Though thus I lan-guish 



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and com - plain, A - las! she ne'er be - lieves me. 



^^^^S ^^^m m 



My vows and sighs, like sil - ent air, Un- 



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heed - ed, nev - er mov< 



her : At the 



p^^^^ m^^^^ 



bon - nie Bush 



bune 



Tra - quair, 'Tw; 



p= r^ S^ 



there I first did love her. 

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 
I '11 tell how Peggy grieves me ; 

Though thus I languish and complain, 
Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 



344 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

My vows and sighs, like silent air, 
Unheeded, never move her ; 

At the bonnie Bush abune Traquair, 
'Twas there I first did love her. 



That day she smiled and made me glad, 

No maid seem'd ever kinder ; 
I thought myself the luckiest lad, 

So sweetly there to find her ; 
I tried to soothe my amorous flame, 

In words that I thought tender ; 
If more there pass'd, I 'm not to blame- 

I meant not to offend her. 

Yet now she scornful flees the plain, 

The fields we then frequented ; 
If e'er we meet she shews disdain, 

She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May, 

Its sweets I'll aye remember ; 
But now her frowns make it decay — 

It fades as in December. 

Ye rural powers, who hear my strains, 

Why thus should Peggy grieve me ? 
make her partner in my pains, 

Then let her smiles relieve me : 
If not, my love will turn despair, 

My passion no more tender ; 
I'll leave the Bush abune Traquair— 

To lonelv wilds I '11 wander. 



MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE. 

There was an old and simple song, of which the verses ended 
with ' My dearie, an thou die.' It was superseded by an elegant 
song of Robert Crawford, which appeared in both the Tea-table 
Miscellany and the Orpheus Caledonius ; in the latter case, with 
an air evidently the representative of one inserted in the Skene 
Manuscript, under the title of Sillie Soul alace ! In repeating 
the song, however, in this place, a copy given as the genuine 
old one by Mr Stenhouse, and which may certainly be accepted 
as such, is preferred. Amongst modern lovers of our national 
melodies, it will be recognised as the tune adopted for a song of 
recent date, beginning, ' What ails this heart o' mine V 



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Love never more shall give me pain, My fan - cy 's fix'd on 

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dearie, if thou dee. 



346 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Love never more shall give me pain, 

My fancy 's fix'd on thee ; 
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 

My Peggie, if thou dee. 
Thy beauties did such pleasure give, 

Thy love's so true to me ; 
Without thee I shall never live, 

My dearie, if thou dee. 

If fate shall tear thee from my breast, 

How shall I lonely stray ! 
In dreary dreams the night I '11 waste, 

In sighs the silent day. 
I ne'er can so much virtue find, 

Nor such perfection see : 
Then I '11 renounce all womankind. 

My Peggie, after thee. 

No new-blown beauty fires my heart, 

With Cupid's raving rage ; 
But thine, which can such sweets impart, 

Must all the world engage. 
'Twas this that, like the morning sun, 

Gave joy and life to me ; 
And, when its destined day is done, 

With Peggie let me dee. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 
And in such pleasures share, 

Ye who its faithful flames approve, 
With pity view the fair : 

Restore my Peggie's wonted charms, 
Those charms so dear to me ; 

Oh, never rob them from those arms — ■ 



ONE DAY I HEAED MARY SAY. 

This song by Crawford — unfortunate in the name assigned to 
the lover, but yet a pleasant specimen of the genius of its author 
— was composed to an old air, called from the original song I'll 
Never Leave Thee, which commenced as follows : 

Leave thee, lad, leave thee, lad, 

I '11 never leave thee. 
Gang the world as it will, 

I '11 never leave thee. 



One Day I heard Mary say was printed in the Tea-table 
Miscellany and the Orpheus Caledonius, and has been included 
in all subsequent collections. About 1770, the Italian singer 
Tenducci made a great success in introducing it to his Edinburgh 
audiences ; and so lately as 1 848, the editor had the pleasure of 
hearing a representation of that great vocalist's manner of 
singing this song, from a gentleman who not only remembered 
it well, but could imitate it with tolerable effect. As might be 
expected, a strong rise in passionate energy at ' Alas, my fond 
heart will break ! ' was the tour de force of the performance. 



pJLj_il_JE^^gf^ Pg 



One day 



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leave thee? Stay, dearest A - don - is, stay; Why wilt thou 



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grieve me ? A - las ! my fond heart will break, 



348 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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If thou should leave me: I'll live and di 




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for thy sake, Yet nev - er leave thee. 

One day I heard Mary say, 

How shall I leave thee i 
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay ; 

Why wilt thou grieve me ? 
Alas ! my fond heart will break, 

If thou should leave me : 
I '11 live and die for thy sake, 

Yet never leave thee. 

Say, lovely Adonis, say, 

Has Mary deceived thee ? 
Did e'er her young heart "betray 

New love, that has grieved thee ? 
My constant mind ne'er shall stray ; 

Thou may believe me. 
I '11 love thee, lad, night and day, 

And never leave thee. 



Adonis, my charming youth, 

What can relieve thee ? 
Can Mary thy anguish soothe ? 

This breast shall receive thee. 
My passion can ne'er decay, 

Never deceive thee ; 
Delight shall drive pain away, 

Pleasure revive thee. 



DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 

But leave thee, leave thee, lad, 

How shall I leave thee ? 
Oh ! that thought makes me sad ; 

I '11 never leave thee ! 
Where would my Adonis fly ? 

Why does he grieve me ? 
Alas ! my poor heart will die, 

If I should leave thee. 



349 



DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 

This song hy Crawford appeared with its air in the Orpheus 
Galedonius. In the present and other modern reprints, an 
improved version of the last verse, from the pen of Burns, k 
adopted. 



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When trees did bud, and field? were green, And 



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broom bloonvd fair to see; When Ma - 17 was com- 



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plete fif - teen, And love laugh'd in her e'e : 



Blithe 



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Davie's blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus 



350 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



i 



ft 



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free : Gang down the burn, 



vie, love, And 



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I will fol - low thee. 

When trees did bud, and fields were green, 

And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
When Mary was complete fifteen, 

And love laugh'd in her e'e ; 
Blithe Davie's blinks her heart did move 

To speak her mind thus free : 
Gang down the burn, Davie, love, 

And I will follow thee. 

Now Davie did each lad surpass 

That dwelt on this burnside ; 
And Mary was the bonniest lass, 

Just meet to be a bride : 
Her cheeks were rosie, red and white ; 

Her een were bonnie blue ; 
Her looks were like the morning bright, 

Her lips like dropping dew. 

As down the burn they took their way, 

And through the flow'ry dale ; 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 

And love was aye the tale. 
With, Mary, when shall we return, 

Sic pleasure to renew ? 
Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn, 

And aye will follow you. 1 

1 Burns was informed that the air of this song was composed by David 
Maigh, who, in his time, had been keeper of the blood-hounds to the 
Laird of Biddel, in Roxburghshire. 



TO MRS A. H., 



ON SEEING HER AT A CONCERT. 



This little occasional canzonet of Crawford's is a fair specimen 
of his amatory verses, and a characteristic production. A general 
admirer of the fair, he sees a young lady at a concert, deems her 
the prettiest creature extant, and immediately throws off two 
stanzas in her praise, to the appropriate tune of The Bonniest 
Lass in a? the World. It appears that the lady in question was 
Miss Anne Hamilton (as we should now entitle her), a relative of 
William Hamilton of Bangour, and subsequently married to 
' Professor M , in the university of Edinburgh.' 

The modern reader, who only reads the verses, will perhaps 
set little store by them ; but if he be so fortunate as hear them 
well sung to their proper melody, he will probably own that they 
possess a certain charm. 



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la smiles, Ha- 



Look where my dear Ha 



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mil - la, love - ly charm -er! See how with all their 




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arts and wiles The Loves and Gra - ces 



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blush dwells glow - ing on her cheeks, Fair 



352 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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seats of youth - ful pleasures ; There Love 



in snni - in< 



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lan-guage speaks, There spreads his ros - y trea - sures. 

Look where my dear Hamilla smiles, 

Hamilla, lovely charmer ! 
See how with all their arts and wiles 

The Loves and Graces arm her ! 
A blush dwells glowing on her cheeks, 

Fair seats of youthful pleasures ; 
There Love in smiling language speaks, 

There spreads his rosy treasures. 

O fairest maid, I own thy power, 

I gaze, I sigh, I languish ; 
Yet ever, ever will adore, 

And triumph in my anguish. 
But ease, dear charmer, ease my care, 

And let my torments move thee : 
As thou art fairest of the fair, 

So I the dearest love thee. 



BUSK YE, BUSK YE. 

The refined society of Edinburgh, in the reign of George I., 
boasted of another poetical ornament besides Eobert Crawford, 
in the person of William Hamilton of Bangour. An amiable 
enthusiast in love and Jacobitism, he passed through a bachelor life 
of fifty years, which might have been prolonged if he had not 



BUSK YE, BUSK YE. 



353 



subjected himself to severe personal hardships and exile, by his 
adherence to the Stuart cause in 1745. Hamilton wrote moral- 
ising and descriptive epics in the manner then prevalent, and 
these pieces have twice been admitted into the canon of the 
British poets ; but Johnson's insensibility to their merits, as 
recorded by Boswell, would probably be sanctioned by modern 
criticism. More may be said for him as the author of a few of 
our favourite Scottish songs, and particularly of the one here 
immediately following, which, in addition to its own inherent 
merits, has the incidental one of having stimulated "Wordsworth 
to the production of his Yarrow Unvisited, and its sequels. 

The air is that of a previously existing ballad, the incidents 



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Busk ye, busk ye, my bon - nie, bon - nie bride ! 



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Busk ye, busk ye, my win - some mar - row ! 



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Busk ye, busk ye, my bon - nie, bon - nie bride, And 



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Where 



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354 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 




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win - some mar - row?' 'I gat her where I 



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daur - na weel be seen, 



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braes of Yar - row.' 

A. ' Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride ! 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! 
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 
And think nae mair of the braes of Yarrow.' 

B. ' Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride ? 

Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? ' 

A. 'I gat her where I daurna weel be seen, 

Piling the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 

' Weip not, weip not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 
Weip not, weip not, my winsome marrow ! 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive 

Piling the birks on the braes of Yarrow.' 

B. ' Why does she weip, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ? 

Why does she weip, thy winsome marrow ? 
And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen, 
Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow 1 ' 

A . i Lang maun she weip, lang, lang maun she weip, 
Lang maun she weip wi' dule and sorrow ; 
And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen 
Puins: the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 



BUSK YE, BUSK YE. 355 

' For she has tint her luver deir, 

Her luver deir, the cause of sorrow ; 
And I ha'e slain the comeliest swain 

That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow. 

' Why runs thy stream, Yarrow, red ? 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow 1 
And why yon melancholious weids, 

Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow ? 

' What's yonder floats on the rueful nude ? 

What 's yonder floats ?— Oh, dule and sorrow ! 
'Tis he, the comely swain I slew 

Upon the dulefu' braes of Yarrow ! 

' Wash, oh, wash his wounds in tears, 

His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ; 
And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 

And lay him on the banks of Yarrow. 

' Then build, then build, ye sisters sad, 

Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow ; 
And weip around, in waefu' wise, 

His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow ! 

' Curse ye, curse ye, his useless shield, 

The arm that wrocht the deed of sorrow, 
The fatal spear that pierced his breist, 

His comely breist, on the braes of Yarrow ! 

' Did I not warn thee not to love, 
And warn from fight ? But, to my sorrow, 

Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou met'st, 
Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. 

' Sweit smells the birk ; green grows the grass ; 

Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan ; 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; 

Sweit the wave of Yarrow flowin' ! 



356 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

' Flows Yarrow sweit 1 as sweit flows Tweed ; 

As green its grass ; its gowan as yellow ; 
As sweit smells on its braes the birk ; 

The apple from its rocks as mellow ! 

' Fair was thy love ! fair, fair, indeed, thy love ! 

In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ; 
Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, 

Than me he never loved thee better. 

' Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride ! 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! 
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, 

And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow.' 

C. ' How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? 
How can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How can I lo'e him on the banks of Tweed 
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ? 

' Oh, Yarrow fields, may never rain 
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover ! 

For there was basely slain my love, 
My love, as he had not been a lover. 

' The boy put on his robes of green, 
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewin 1 ; 

Ah, wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 
He was in these to meet his ruin. 

' The boy took out his milk-white steed, 
Unmindful of my dule and sorrow : 

But, ere the too-fa' of the nicht, 1 
He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! 

1 Ere the fall of the evening. 



BUSK YE, BUSK YE. 357 

'Much I rejoiced, that waefu' day ; 

I sang, nxy voice the woods returning ; 
But, lang ere nicht, the spear was flown 

That slew my love, and left me mourning. 

' What can my barbarous father do, 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My lover's blude is on thy spear — 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then, woo me ? 

' My happy sisters may be proud, 

With cruel and ungentle scoffing, 
May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes, 

My lover nailed in his coffin. 

• My brother Douglas may upbraid, 

And strive, with threat'ning words, to move me ; 
My lover's blude is on thy spear — 

How canst thou ever bid me love thee ? 

' Yes, yes, prepare the bed of love ! 

With bridal-sheets my body cover ! 
Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door ! 

Let in th' expected husband-lover ! 

1 But who the expected husband is ? 

His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter 1 
Ah, me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon, 

Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? 

' Pale as he is, here lay him down ; 

O lay his cold head on my pillow ! 
Take off, take off these bridal-weids, 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

' Pale though thou art, yet best beloved, 
Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee ! 

Yet lie all night between my breasts — 
No youth lay ever there before thee ! 



358 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



' Pale, pale, indeed, oh lovely youth, 
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, 

And lie all night between my breasts, 
No youth shall ever lie there after ! ' 

A. ' Keturn, return, O mournful bride ! 
Return, and dry thy useless sorrow ! 
Thy lover heids nocht of thy sighs ; 
He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. 



AH, THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE. 

This is a piece by Hamilton of Bangour, scarcely to be 
distinguished in style from those of Crawford. It is to a tune 
entitled Sour Plums o' Galashiels, or briefly Galashiels, which 
is stated by Mr Stenhouse to have been composed by the Laird of 
Galashiels's piper, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. 

a. 



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Ah, the poor shep - herd's mourn - ful 

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doom'd to love and doom'd to Ian - guish, To 



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AH, THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE. 359 



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360 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 

When doom'd to love and doom'd to languish, 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 

Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
Yet eager looks and dying sighs 

My secret soul discover, 
While rapture, trembling through mine eyes, 

Keveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the reddening cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak 

A thousand various wishes. 

For, oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
That artless blush and modest air 

So fatally beguiling ; 
Thy every look, and every grace, 

So charm, whene'er I view thee, 
Till death o'ertake me in the chase 

Still will my hopes pursue thee. 
Then, when my tedious hours are past, 

Be this last blessing given, 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven. 



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his pipe and my yowes. 

How blithe, ilk morn, was I to see 

My swain come o'er the hill ! 
He skipt the burn and flew to me : 
I met him with good- will. 

Oh, the brume, the bonnie, bonnie brume ! 

The brume o' the Cowdenknowes ! 
I wish I were with my dear swain, 
With his pipe and my yowes. 

I wanted neither yowe nor lamb, 

While his flock near me lay ; 
He gathered in my sheep at night, 

And cheered me a' the day. 

He tuned his pipe, and played sae sweet, 

The birds sat listening bye ; 
E'en the dull cattle stood and gazed, 

Charmed with the melodye. 



362 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

While thus we spent our time, by turns, 

Betwixt our flocks and play, 
I envied not the fairest dame, 

Though e'er so rich or gay. 

Hard fate, that I should banished be, 

Gang heavily, and mourn, 
Because I loved the kindest swain 

That ever yet was born. 

He did oblige me every horn- ; 

Could I but faithful be ? 
He stawe my heart ; could I refuse 

Whate'er he ask'd of me ? 

My doggie, and my little kit 
That held my wee soup whey, 

My plaidie, brooch, and crookit stick, 
May now lie useless by. 

Adieu, ye Cowdenknowes, adieu ! 

Fareweel, a' pleasures there ! 
Ye gods, restore me to my swain — 
Is a' I crave or care. 

Oh, the brume, the bonnie, bonnie brume ! 

The brume o' the Cowdenknowes ! 
I wish I were with my dear swain, 
With his pipe and my yowes ! 



COWDENKNOWES. 

When summer comes, the swains on Tweed 

Sing their successful loves ; 
Around the ewes the lambkins feed, 

And music fills the groves. 



COWDENKNOWES. 363 

But my loved song is then the broom, 

So fair on Cowdenknowes ; 
For sure so sweet, so soft a bloom 

Elsewhere there never grows ! 

There Colin tuned his aiten reed, 

And won my yielding heart ; 
No shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed 

Could play with half such art. 

He sung of Tay, of Forth, of Clyde, 

The hills and dales around, 
Of Leader-haughs and Leader-side ; 

Oh, how I blessed the sound ! 

Yet more delightful is the broom 

So fair on Cowdenknowes ; 
For sure so fresh, so fair a bloom, 

Elsewhere there never grows. 

Not Teviot braes, so green and gay, 

May with this broom compare ; 
Not Yarrow's banks, in ilow'ry May, 

Nor the Bush aboon Traquair. 

More pleasing far are Cowdenknowes, 

My peaceful happy home, 
Where I was wont to milk my yowes 

At even, among the broom. 

Ye powers, that haunt the woods and plains, 

Where Tweed with Teviot flows, 
Convey me to the best of swains, 

And my loved Cowdenknowes ? 1 

These two favourite specimens of the Scottish pastoral muse 
date from the early years of the eighteenth century, both of them 

1 From the Tea-table Miscellany, 1 724. 



3G4 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

appearing in the Tea-table Miscellany, 1724. The second is by 
Crawford, and a fair example of his manner. Regarding the 
authorship of the first, we only know that it is signed in the 
Tea-table Miscellany with the initials S. R. The tune, which is 
a ballad one in one part, was recommended to Dr Pepusch by its 
sweetness and simplicity, and adopted by him as the parting 
strain of Macheath and Polly in the Beggar's Opera. 

These pastoral songs, however, are a comparatively modern 
creation, probably on the basis of some lost original, of which 
we see another and English offshoot in a vulgar ballad of the 
preceding century, of which a broadside copy, mostly in black- 
letter, is preserved in the Roxburghe Collection, British Museum. 1 
What is here transcribed of this composition will be sufficient to 
eive the reader some idea of it. 



THE LOVELY NORTHERN LASS. 

Who in this ditty here complaining shews 
What harm she got milking her daddy's ewes. 
To a pleasant Scotch tune, called The Broome of Cowdenknoives. 

Through Liddersdale as lately I went, 

I musing on did passe, 
I heard a maid was discontent, 

She sighed and said, Alas ! 
All maids that ever deceived was, 

Bear a part of these my woes, 
For once I was a bonny lass, 

When I milked my daddy's ewes. 
With O the broome, the bonny, bonny broome, 

The broome of Cowdenknowes ; 
Fain would I be in the North Countrie, 

To milk my daddy's ewes. 

My love into the fields did come, 

When my daddy was at home ; 
Sugared words he gave me there, 

Praised me for such a one ; 

1 Roxburghe Ballads, Vol. i., No. 190. 



COWDENKNOWES. 365 

His honey breath, and lips so soft, 

And his alluring eye, 
And tempting tongue, [that] wooed me oft, 

Now forces me to cry : 
All maids, &c. 



In Danby forest I was born, 
My beauty did excel. 



I might have been a prince's peer, 
"When I came over the knowes, 

Till the shepherd-boy beguiled me, 
Milking my daddy's ewes. 



A young man, hearing her complaint, 

Did pity this her case, 
Saying to her, Sweet beauteous saint, 

I grieve so fair a face 
Should sorrow so — then, sweeting, know, 

To ease thee of thy woes, 
1 11 go with thee to the North Countrie, 

To milk thy daddy's ewes. 

Leander-like, I will remain 

Still constant to thee ever, 
As Pyramus or Troilus, 

Till death our lives shall sever ; 
Let me be hated evermore, 

Of all men that me knows. 
If false to thee, sweet heart, I be, 

Milking thy daddy's ewes. 

Then modestly she did reply, 

Might I so happy be, 
Of you to find a husband kind, 

And for to marry me. 
Then to you I would, during life, 

Continue constant still, 
And be a true obedient wife, 

Observing of your will. 



366 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

With O the broome, the bonny, bonny broome, 
The broome of Cowdenknowes ; 

Fain would I be in the North Countrie, 
Milking my daddy's ewes. 1 



Cowles, it may be remarked, was a publisher of broadside 
ballads in the reign of Charles II., if not also somewhat earlier. 
A considerable number of those published by him and preserved 
in the Koxburghe Collection, including this of The Northern 
Lass, are in a certain style marking one authorship — a style 
distinguished by its involving a great deal of mythological 
allusion, thus somewhat recalling the manner of Burn the Violer. 
One of these pieces bears the initials 'L. P.,' which we may 
consequently regard as a shadow of the name of the author of 
Tlu Northern Lass. 

In Playford's Dancing Master, as early as 1650, occurs a tune 
called Broom, the Bonny Bonny Broom, which perfectly suits this 
song, and is believed by Mr William Chappell to have been its 
proper melody : it is probably that alluded to in the well-known 
book of that period, Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, under -the 
name of tJie Broom, the Bonny Bonny Broom. Thus we pretty 
clearly take back the date of this famous air to the middle of 
the seventeenth century. 

It is the opinion, however, of Mr Chappell 2 — and no opinion 
on such a subject can be entitled to greater weight — that the 
tune was of still earlier origin. There is in the Pepys Collection 
another black-letter emanation of the press of Francis Cowles, 
entitled The New Broome, and opening thus : 

Poor Coridon did sometimes sit 

Hard by the broome alone, 
And secretly complained to it, 

Against his only one. 

1 Printed at London for F. Cowles. 

2 Popular Music of the Olden Time, ii. 458. 



SAW YE JOHNIE COMING? 367 

He bids the broome that blooms him by, 

Beare witness to his wrong, 
And, thinking that none else was nigh, 
He thus began his song : 

The broome, the broome, the well-favoured broome, 

The broome blooms fair on hill ; 
What ailed my love to lightly me, 
And I working her will, 

Mr Chappell remarks that this song recalls ' the bunch of 
ballads and songs all ancient, as Broom, Broom on Hill,' &c, 
which are mentioned in Laneham's Letter from Kenilworth, 1575, 
and also, we may add, the tune Brume, Brume on Hil, introduced 
in the list of melodies in the Oomylaunt of Scotland, 1548. We 
thus seem to obtain a hint that our Broom of the Gowdenknowes 
is the representative of an air of uncommon antiquity, and 
which, in all its mutations, has constantly been connected with 
the idea of broom — broom growing on elevated ground — though 
not from the first on Cowdenknowes in the valley of the Leader, 
in Berwickshire. It is, for this and other reasons, the opinion of 
Mr Chappell, that the tune is of English origin, and only came to 
be called a Scotch tune on the front of The Northern Lass, from 
the song being on a Scotch subject, and in imitation of the 
Scotch dialect. The case, however, is — to say the very least — 
1 not proven.' 



SAW YE JOHNIE COMING ? 

This is one of the old rustic productions of the Scottish muse, 
for which there is no trace of authorship. Burns considered the 
song unrivalled in humour, and the air in 'lively originality,' 
and yet to most minds the pathetic earnestness of the girl will be 
as striking as any drollery involved in the dialogue ; while no 
one has more heartily admitted the capability of the air, when 
played slow, for conveying mournful ideas than Burns himself. 
He had the advantage of hearing it played with the most 



368 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



touching effect by Mr Thomas Fraser, an oboist connected with 
the Dumfries theatre, and was thus induced to compose to it his 
pathetic song, Thou hast Left me ever, Jamie. 



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Saw ye Johnie comin' ? quo' she, 

Saw ye Johnie comin' ? 
Saw ye Johnie comin' 1 quo' she, 

Saw ye Johnie comin' ? 
Saw ye Johnie comin' ? quo' she, 

Saw ye Johnie comin', 
Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, 

And his doggie rinnin' ? quo' she, 



Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 
Fee him, father, fee him ; 

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 
Fee him, father, fee him ; 



DUMBARTON'S DRUMS. 369 

For lie is a gallant lad, 

And a weel-doin' ; 
And a' the wark about the toun 

Gangs wi' me when I see him, quo' she, 

Gangs wi' me when I see him. 

what will I do wi' him ? quo' he, 
What will I do wi' him ? 

He has ne'er a coat upon his back, 
And I hae nane to gie him. 

1 hae twa coats into my kist, 

And ane o' them I '11 gie him ; 
And for a merk o' mair fee 

Dinna stand x wi' him, quo' she, 
Dinna stand wi' him : 

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, 

Weel do I lo'e him ; 
For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, 

Weel do I lo'e him. 
O, fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 

Fee him, father, fee him ; 
He '11 haud the pleuch, thrash in the barn, 

And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she, 

And crack wi' me at e'en. 2 



DUMBARTON'S DRUMS. 

The following song, from the Tea-table Miscellany, is not of 
the first order of merit, but could not well be omitted from the 
present collection. Burns was ' under an impression that the 
song was localised to Dumbarton Castle ; but the drums, more 
probably, were those of Dumbarton's regiment, a corps named 
from its first commander, Douglas, Earl of Dumbarton, who died 
in exile in 1692. 

1 As much as to say, Don't stickle with him. 

2 From Herd's Collection, 1776. 



370 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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DUMBARTON'S DRUMS. 371 

Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, 0, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnie, ; 

How happie am I 

When my soldier is by, 
While he kisses and blesses his Annie, ! 
"lis a soldier alone can delight me, 0, 
For his graceful looks do invite me, ; 

While guarded in his arms, 

I '11 fear no war's alarms, 
Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me, 0. 



My love is a handsome laddie, 0, 
Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy, 0. 

Though commissions are dear, 

Yet I '11 buy him one this year, 
For he '11 serve no longer a cadie, 0. 
A soldier has honour and bravery, ; 
Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery, 0, 

He minds no other thing 

But the ladies or the king ; 
For every other care is but slavery, 0. 



Then I '11 be the captain's lady, 0, 
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, ; 
I '11 wait no more at home, 
But I '11 follow with the drum, 
And whene'er that beats I '11 be ready, 0. 
Dumbarton's drums sound bonnie, 0, 
They are sprightly like my dear Johnie, 
How happy shall I be 
When on my soldier's knee, 
And he kisses and blesses his Annie, ! 



372 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING. 



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I would love thee, I would love thee 

An thou wert my ain thing, 
How dearly would I love thee ! 



AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING. 373 

Then I would clasp thee in my arms, 
Then I 'd secure thee from all harms ; 
For above mortal thou hast charms : 
How dearly do I love thee ! 



Of race divine thou needs must he, 
Since nothing earthly equals thee, 
So I must still presumptuous he, 
To shew how much I love thee. 



The gods one thing peculiar have, 
To ruin none whom they can save ; 
O, for their sake, support a slave, 
Who only lives to love thee ! 

To merit I no claim can make, 
But that I love, and, for your sake, 
What man can more, I'll undertake, 
So dearly do I love thee. 

My passion, constant as the sun, 
Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done, 
Till fates my thread of life have spun, 
Which breathing out, I '11 love thee. 



This beautiful song, with its fine air, appeared in Eamsay's 
Tea-table Miscellany, excepting the second verse, which was added 
in a repetition of the song in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius. It 
was regarded by these editors as a song of unknown authorship, 
and so it remains to this day. 

An Thou wer Myn Own Thing is the name of a tune in the 
manuscript Lute-book, written by Gordon of Straloch in the 
year 1627. 



374 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE EWE-BUCHTS. 

The following song is another of the better productions of 
the rustic muse, probably dating from an early period of the 
eighteenth century, as it is published in Ramsay's Tea-table 
Miscellany, 1724, and, with its fine melody, in the Orpheus 
Caledonius, 1725. Bishop Percy paid it the compliment of 
inserting it in his Reliques. 



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Will ye go to the ewe-buchts, Marion, 
And weir in the sheep wi' me ? 

The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
But nae hauf sae sweet as thee. 



THE EWE-BUCHTS. 375 

O, Marion 's a boimie lass, 

And the blithe blink 's in her e'e ; 

And fain wad I marry Marion, 
Gin Marion wad marry me. 

There 's gowd in your garters, Marion, 

And silk on your white hause-bane ; 
Fou fain wad I kiss my Marion, 

At e'en, when I come hame. 
There 's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 

Wha gape, and glower wi' their e'e, 
At kirk when they see my Marion ; 

But nane o' them lo'es like me. 

I 've nine milk-ewes, my Marion, 

A cow and a brawny quey ; 
I '11 gie them a' to my Marion, 

Just on her bridal-day. 
And ye'se get a green sey apron, 

And waistcoat o' London broun ; 
And wow but we'se be vap'rin' 

Whene'er ye gang to the toun. 

I 'm young and stout, my Marion ; 

Nane dances like me on the green : 
And, gin ye forsake me, Marion, 

I '11 e'en gae draw up wi' Jean. 
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion, 

And kirtle o' cramasie ; 
And, as sune as my chin has nae hair on, 

I will come west, and see ye. 1 

1 In a version of The Ewe-buchts, popular in the south of Scotland, 
the following chorus is added : 

Come round about the Merry-knowes, my Marion; 

Come round about the Merry-knowes wi' me ; 
Come round about the Merry-knowes, my Marion; 
For Whitsled is lying lee. 
As Whitsled is a farm in the parish of Ashkirk, and county of Selkirk, 



376 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE BIRKS OF LNVERMAY. 

At the time when Crawford and Hamilton were celebrating 
the fair ladies of Edinburgh under the guise of shepherdesses, 
a young man from the skirts of the Perthshire Highlands, named 
David Malloch, occupied the humble position of janitor of the 
High School. He was afterwards able to push his way to a 
good education, and a position of some notability in the literary 
circles of London, under the slightly changed name of David 
Mallet ; and, finally, we find him acting as the editor of Boling- 
broke's Works. While living in Edinburgh, he caught the furore 
for pastoral verse which was then and there raging, and produced 
the following song to a beautiful tune of contemporaneous 



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the Vale of the Tweed. 

To readers of fastidious taste, the following might be a more acceptable 
version of the last stanza : 

I 'm young and stout, my Marion ; 

Nane dances like me on the green ; 
I could work a haill day, my Marion, 

For ae blink o' your een. 
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion, 

And kirtle o' cramasie ; 
And, as sune as it is the gloamin', » 

I will come west, and see ye. 




THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY. 



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The smiling morn, the breathing spring, 

Invite the tunefu' birds to sing ; 

And, while they warble from the spray, 

Love melts the universal lay. 

Let us, Amanda, timely wise, 

Like them, improve the hour that flies ; 

And in soft raptures waste the day, 

Among the birks of Invermay. 



378 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



For soon the winter of the year, 
And age, life's winter, will appear ; 
At this thy living bloom will fade, 
As that will strip the verdant shade. 
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, 
The feathered songsters are no more 
And when they drop, and we decay, 
Adieu the Dirks of Invermay ! 1 



ROSLIN CASTLE. 

The beautiful air of this song was long thought to be a 
production of James Oswald ; but Mr Stenhouse states, that it 
appears in the prior collection of M'Gibbon, under the name of 
The House of Glams. It is certainly of no great age. 

The song, which may be considered as an imitation of the 
dulcet strains of Mallet and Thomson, was composed by Richard 
Hewitt, a young man, a native of Cumberland, who served Dr 
Blacklock, the blind poet, for some years as an amanuensis, and 
died in 1764, in the capacity of secretary to the Lord Justice- 
Clerk Milton, sous-ministre for Scotland, under Archibald, Duke 
of Argyle. 

The song first appeared in Herd's Collection. 




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range, rendered attractive by a cascade of its rivulet, the May. 



ROSLIN CASTLE. 



379 



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ech - oed back his cheer - ful strain. 



'Twas in that season of the year, 
When all things gay and sweet appear, 
That Colin, with the morning ray, 
Arose and sung his rural lay. 
Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung : 
The hills and dales with Nannie rung ; 
While Eoslin Castle heard the swain, 
And echoed back his cheerful strain. 



380 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Awake, sweet Muse ! The breathing spring 
With rapture warms : awake, and sing ! 
Awake and join the vocal throng, 
And hail the morning with a song : 
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay ; 
0, bid her haste and come away ; 
In sweetest smiles herself adorn, 
And add new graces to the morn ! 

look, my love ! on every spray 
A feather'd warbler tunes his lay ; 
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng, 
And love inspires the melting song : 
Then let the raptured notes arise : 
For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes ; 
And love my rising bosom warms, 
And fills my soul with sweet alarms. 

Oh, come, my love ! Thy Colin's lay 

With rapture calls : 0, come away ! 

Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine 

Around that modest brow of thine. 

! hither haste, and with thee bring 

That beauty blooming like the spring, 

Those graces that divinely shine, 

And charm this ravish'd heart of mine ! 



PINKIE HOUSE. 

This song appears in Herd's Collection, 1776, being appar- 
ently designed as an improvement upon one of David Mallet's, 
beginning 'As Sylvia in a forest lay,' which had been printed 
in the Tea-table Miscellany and Orpheus Caledonius, as to the 
tune of Rothes's Lament or Pinkie House. The present song is 
believed to have been a composition of Joseph Mitchell, a bard 
of medium merit, who flourished in Edinburgh in the reign of 
George II. 



PINKIE HOUSE. 



381 



j^P ^^ ^ jg^ 



By 



Pin 



kie House oft 



let me walk, And 






muse o'er Nel - ly's charms! Her pla 



cid 



air, her 



p ^ttfT?^ 



win - nine talk, even 



vy s 



self 



dis - arras. 



is^ as s^i^gi 



let 



fond, 



be - hold Those 



i 



§gH 



MM P 



gra - ces void of art — Those cheer - ful smiles that 



sweet - ly hold, In will - ing chains, my heart! 



ing chains, my heart! 



By Pinkie House ] oft let me walk, 

And muse o'er Nelly's charms ! 
Her placid air, her winning talk, 

Even envy's self disarms. 
O let me, ever fond, behold 

Those graces void of art — 
Those cheerful smiles that sweetly hold, 

In willing chains, my heart ! 

1 Pinkie House, the seat of Sir Archibald Hope, Bart., is a Scottish 
manor-house, in the taste of the time of King James VI., situated 
in the midst of a fine old grove, close by the town of Musselburgh. 



382 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

come, my love ! and bring anew 

That gentle turn of mind ; 
That gracefulness of air in you 

By nature's hand designed. 
These, lovely as the blushing rose, 

First lighted up this flame, 
Which, like the sun, for ever glows 

Within my breast the same. 

Ye light coquettes ! ye airy things ! 

How vain is all your art ! 
How seldom it a lover brings ! 

How rarely keeps a heart ! 
O gather from my Nelly's charms 

That sweet, that graceful ease, 
That blushing modesty that warms, 

That native art to please ! 

Come then, my love ! 0, come along ! 

And feed me with thy charms ; 
Come, fair inspirer of my song ! 

Oh, fill my longing arms ! 
A flame like mine can never die, 

While charms so bright as thine, 
So heavenly fair, both please the eye, 

And fill the soul divine ! 



TAERY WOO. 

There are very few sentimental songs of the north countrie 
otherwise than upon love. One of that exceptive character, long 
held in great favour in the pastoral regions of Tweed and Teviot, 
is devoted to the exaltation of the pastoral craft, under the 
general idea of the tarry wool in which it deals. This ditty was 
published in the Tea-table Miscellany, and the air in M'Gibbon's 
first collection. 



TARRY WOO. 



383 



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at=* 



32± 



*-•—* 



Tar - ry woo, 0, tar - ry woo, Tarry woo is 



f^ nnj -^^^^ ^ P 



1 



ill to spin; Card it weil, card it weil, 

4- 



S^ffi 



*£ 



Card it weil, ere ye be - gin, When it 's card - it, 



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row'd, and spun, Then the wark is haf - lins done 



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w^^m^ 



4=53 



But, when wov - en, dress'd, and clean, It may be dead - in' 



fcj jk3= # j 



for a queen. 

Tarry woo, 0, tarry woo, 

Tarry woo is ill to spin ; 
Card it weil, card it weil, 
Card it weil, ere ye begin, 
When it 's cardit, row'd, and spun, 
Then the wark is haflins done ; 
But, when woven, dress'd, and clean, 
It may be cleadin' for a queen. 



384 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Sing my bonnie harmless sheep, 

That feed upon the mountains steep, 

Bleating sweetly, as ye go 

Through the winter's frost and snow. 

Hart, and hynd, and fallow-deer, 

No by half sae useful are : 

Frae kings, to him that hauds the pi on', 

All are obliged to tarry woo. 

Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip ; 
Ower the hills and valleys trip ; 
Sing up the praise of tarry woo ; 
Sing the flocks that bear it too : 
Harmless creatures, without blame, 
That dead the back, and cram the wame ; 
Keep us warm and hearty fou — 
Leeze me on the tarry woo ! 

How happy is the shepherd's life, 
Far frae courts and free of strife ! 
While the gimmers bleat and bae, 
And the lambkins answer mae ; 
No such music to his ear ! 
Of thief or fox he has no fear : 
Sturdy kent, and collie true, 
Weil defend the tarry woo. 

He lives content, and envies none : 
Not even a monarch on his throne, 
Though he the royal sceptre sways, 
Has such pleasant holidays. 
Who 'd be king, can ony tell, 
When a shepherd sings sae well ? 
Sings sae well, and pays his due 
With honest heart and tarry woo. 

Sir Walter Scott used annually to join in the festivities of 
the woollen manufacturers of Galashiels, on the day of the 



MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED. 



385 



inauguration of their deacon-convener. On one or two of these 
occasions, notwithstanding disqualifications equal to those of 
the Nightingale Club, he was induced to regale the company 
(at an advanced period of the evening) with Tarry Woo. 



MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED. 

This is an effort in the pastoral style of Crawford by a man 
who occupied rather a broad space in the public eye in Scotland, 
in the middle of the eighteenth century. Sir Gilbert Elliot of 
Minto, the third baronet of the series, appears to have been a 
man of fine sagacity, very considerable accomplishments, and 
good talents for public business. The Rev. Dr Somerville of 
Jedburgh, who was intimately acquainted with him, speaks in 
the highest terms of Sir Gilbert's talents and of his amiable 
general character. As member for Roxburghshire, he rose to be 
Treasurer of the Navy, and was at one time in some likelihood of 
being appointed Speaker. He died in the vigour of life in 
January 1777. 

Sir Gilbert displayed a gift of verse-making at the early age of 
fourteen, when he composed some lines in compliment to Mr 
Murray, on his defending the magistrates of Edinburgh in 
parliament against the charge brought against them on account 
of the Porteous Riot. 1 Like his sister, Miss Jeanie, he wrote one 
Scotch son£, which has been ever held in esteem : 




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? : 



£ 



■V — 



My sheep I ne - gleet 



lost my sheep- 



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hook, 



And 



all the 



g ft y 



haunts of 



my 



1 These verses are in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1737, p. 509. 

Y 



386 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



** 









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youth I for - sook; No more for A- 



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myn - ta fresh gar - lands I wove ; For am- 



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bi - tion, I said, would soon cure me of love. Oh, 



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what had my youth with am 



tion to do? Why 



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left I A - myn - ta? Why broke I 



mv vow 



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give me my sheep, and my sheep - hook re- 



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store, And I'll wan - der from love and A- 



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myn - ta no more. 



MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED. SS7 

My sheep I neglected — I lost my sheep-hook, 

And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook ; 

No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove ; 

For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. 
Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do 1 
Why left I Amynta ? Why broke I my vow ? 
Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, 
And I '11 wander from love and Amynta no more. 

Through regions remote in vain do I rove, 
And bid the wide ocean secure me from love ! 
Oh, fool ! to imagine that aught could subdue 
A love so well-founded, a passion so true ! 
Alas, 'tis too late at thy fate to repine ! 
Poor shepherd ! Amynta no more can be thine ; 
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, 
The moments neglected return not again. 

The air for which this song was written is one commonly 
called in old collections My Apron, Dearie, from a rude song in 
which these words were conspicuous, of which it was the original 
music. 

In connection with the poetical gifts of the brother and sister 
Gilbert and Jean Elliot, it is interesting to know that their 
father Sir Gilbert, a judge of the Court of Session under the 
title of Lord Minto, and who died in 1763, was a lover of poetry, 
and shewed in himself a gift for verse. The only composition of 
his which has been brought to light, is an Italian canzonet which 
he wrote for Signora Passini, to be sung to a Scotch air at some 
of the concerts at which she appeared about the ' fifties.' 

Veduto in prato 

II mio pastor, 
II crin coronato, 

D'un serto di fior'. 
II sole negli occhi 

La fide nel sen', 
Ah ! dove s' asconde ? 

II caro mio ben' ? 



388 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Al bosco, al raonte, 

La cerco in van, 
E, presso al fonte 

Non trovo ch' il can ; 
Ah ! cane fedele 

Deh ! dimmi perche ; 
II mio crudele 

S' asconde di me ? * 



SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN ! 

Sae Merry as We have been appears as a refrain of old date 
in our poetical history. It occurs as the name of one of the 
tunes in the Skene Manuscript, circa 1630 — a tune, however, 
which does not now exist in any such connection. It appears as 
the title of an air also in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, "being 
the melody assigned to a song probably of Ramsay's own, 
addressed ' to Mrs E. C.,' and beginning, ' Now Phoebus advances 
on high,' but containing no such phrase or refrain as this in the 
body of the poem. The phrase is one of those expressions, like 
' auld lang syne,' which can never fail to awaken kindly social 
feelings, and it is not surprising that there should have at length 
been a song fully developing the idea — one which Burns felt to 
be ' beautiful ' — whose chorus, in particular, he deemed * truly 
pathetic ' — as follows : 2 




list - en'd 



1 Scottish Ballads and Songs, Edinburgh, 1859. 

2 This song appeared in Herd's Collection. There is another version, 
containing a few attempts at improvement, in some later collections. 



SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN ! 



389 



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mourn. When - e'er my dear shep - herd was there, Tl 



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birds did me - lo - dious - ly sing, And cold nip 



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win - ter did wear A face that re - sem - bled the 



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spring. Sae mer - ry as we twa ha'e been, Sae 



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mer - ry as we twa ha'e been, My heart il 



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like for 



break When I think on 



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days we ha'e seen. 



390 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

A lass that was laden'd with, care, 

Sat heavily under yon thorn ; 
I listen'd a while for to hear, 

When thus she began for to mourn. 
Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 

The birds did melodiously sing, 
And cold nipping winter did wear 
A face that resembled the spring. 
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 

Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 
My heart it is like for to break 
When I think on the days we ha'e seen. 

Our flocks feeding close by his side, 

He gently pressing my hand, 
I view'd the wide world in its pride, 

And laugh'd at the pomp of command ! 
My dear, he would oft to me say, 

What makes you hard-hearted to me ! 
Oh ! why do you thus turn away, 

From him who is dying for thee ? 

But now he is far from my sight, 

Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
Which makes me lament day and night, 

That ever I granted my love. 
At eve, when the rest of the folk 

Are merrily seated to spin, 
I set myself under an oak, 

And heavily sighed for him. 

An interesting anecdote connected with this song is given 
in the Abbe Morellet's Memoirs: 'Franklin was very fond of 
Scotch songs ; he recollected, he said, the strong and agreeable 
impression which they had made on him. He related to us that, 
while travelling in America, he found himself beyond the 
Alleghany Mountains, in the house of a Scotchman, living remote 



JOHNIE'S GRAY BREEKS. 



391 



from society, after trie loss of his fortune, with his wife, who had 
been handsome, and their daughter, fifteen or sixteen years of 
age ; and that, on a beautiful evening, sitting before their door, 
the wife had sung the Scotch air So Merry as We have been, in 
so sweet and touching a way that he burst into tears ; and that 
the recollection of this impression was still vivid, after more 
than thirty years.' 



JOHNIE'S GRAY BREEKS. 

A homely song, entitled Johnie's Gray Breeks, has been long a 
favourite in Scotland. Its air, one of the finest of the whole 
series of our sentimental melodies, Mr Stenhouse believed to be 
the composition of James Oswald. The best song extant to this 
air, out of many, is the following : 



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When I \v 



as in 



my se'n - teen year, I 



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was baith blithe and bon - nie, ; The lads lo'ed me baith 



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far and near, But I lo'ed nane but John - ie, : He 



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gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, He spake sae blithe and 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



ps^sii 



fe^fe 



— f~ 



fe^ -^-teP= £j 



kind-ly, 0; And I made him new gray breeks, That 



p^m m^ 



fit - ted him most fine - ly, 0, 

When I was in my se'nteen year, 

I was baith blithe and bonnie, O ; 
The lads lo'ed me baith far and near, 

But I lo'ed nane but Johnie, : 
He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, 

He spake sae blithe and kindly, ; 
And I made him new gray breeks, 

That fitted him most finely, 0. 

He was a handsome fellow ; 

His humour was baith frank and free 
His bonnie locks sae yellow, 

Like gowd they glitter'd in my e'e : 
His dimpled chin and rosy cheeks, 

And face sae fair and ruddy, O ; 
And then-a-days his gray breeks 

Were neither auld nor duddy, O. 

But now they 're threadbare worn, 

They 're wider than they wont to be ; 
They 're tash'd-like and sair torn, 

And clouted upon ilka knee. 
But gin I had a simmer's day, 

As I ha'e had right monie, 0, 
I 'd make a web o' new gray, 

To be breeks to my Johnie, 0. 



SHAME FA' THE GEAR. 



393 



For he 's weel wordy o' them, 

And better, gin I had to gie, 
And I '11 tak pains npo' them, 

Frae faults I '11 strive to keep them free. 
To cleid him weel shall be my care, 

To please him a' my study, ! 
But he maun wear the auld pair 

A wee, though they be duddy, 0. 

For when the lad was in his prime, 

Like him there warna monie, 0. 
He ca'd me aye his bonnie thing, 

Sae wha wadna lo'e Johnie, I 
0, I lo'e Johnie's gray breeks, 

For a' the care they Ve gi'en me yet, 
And gin we live another year, 

We '11 mak them hale between us yet. 



SHAME FA' THE GEAR. 



I 



When I think on this warld's pelf, And the 



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lit - tie wee share 



ha'i 



o't to my - self, And 



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how the lass that wants it is by the lads for -got, May the 



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1 
shame fa' the gear and the bleth - rie o't ! 



394 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

When I think on this warld's pelf, 

And the little wee share I ha'e o't to myself, 

And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot, 

May the shame fa' the gear and the blethrie o't ! 

Jockie was the laddie that held the pleuch, 

But now he 's got gowd and gear eneuch, 

He thinks nae mair o' me that wears the plaidin' coat ; 

May the shame fa' the gear and the blethrie o't ! 

Jenny was the lassie that muckit the byre, 
But now she is clad in her silken attire ; 
And Jockie says he lo'es her, and me has forgot — 
May the shame fa' the gear and the blethrie o't ! 

But all this shall never daunton me, 

Sae lang as I keep my fancy free ; 

For the lad that 's sae inconstant is no worth a groat — 

May the shame fa' the gear and the blethrie o't ! 

'Shame fa' the gear and the blethrie [that is, the senseless- 
ness] o't' is an old Scottish proverb, adduced on any occasion 
when conduct has been unduly affected by sordid considerations, 
as when a young woman, for the sake of a good ' down-sitting,' 
marries an old man. Kelly, in his Scotch Proverbs, published in 
1 72 1, alludes to a song embodying the idea. There are two 
versions of such a song : one here given from Johnson's Museum ; 
another which appeared in Yair's Charmer, 1751, of which the 
morale is strikingly inferior. It represents a man as reflecting 
sarcastically on his own poverty, simply in contrast with old 
companions now well-off, and adding finally a line which hints 
an ample explanation of his low condition — 

While I ha'e the tither penny to pay the tither pot, 
May the shame fa' the gear and the blethrie o't ! 



LOGIE 0' BUCHAN. 

The song here presented has long been in great favour in 
Scotland. According to Mr Peter Buchan, it was the composition 
of Mr George Halket, and was written by him while schoolmaster 
of Rathen, in Aberdeenshire, about the year 1 736. ' The poetry 
of this individual,' says Mr Buchan, ' was chiefly Jacobitical, and 
long remained familiar amongst the peasantry in that quarter 
of the country. One of the best known of these, at the present, 
is Wherry, Whigs, awa\ Man! In 1746, Mr Halket wrote a 
dialogue betwixt George II. and the Devil, which falling into 
the hands of the Duke of Cumberland while on his march to 
Culloden, he offered one hundred pounds' reward for the person 
or the head of its author. Mr Halket died in 1756. 

'The Logie here mentioned is in one of the adjoining parishes 
(Crimond), where Mr Halket then resided ; and the hero of the 
piece was a James Robertson, gardener at the place of Logic' 

The song and air first appeared in Johnson's Museum. 




Lo - gie 0' Buch - an, 0, Lo - gie, the 



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m 



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laird, They ha'e ta'en a - w&' Jam - ie that delved in the 



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yard ; He play'd on the pipe and the 



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m 



396 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



i 



ES: 



S 



He said, Think na lang, lass - ie, though I gang a- 



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t — I" 



wa' ; He said, Think na lang, lass - ie, though I gam 



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wa' ; For the sim-mer will come, when cauld win-ter's a- 

1 



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1 
wa', And I '11 come and 



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thee in spite o 1 them 



0, Logie o' Buchan, 0, Logie, the laird, 
They ha'e ta'eii awa' Jamie that delved in the yard ; 
He play'd on the pipe and the viol sae sma' ; 
They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a', 

He said, Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa' ; 

He said, Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa' ; 

For the simmer will come, when cauld winter 's awa' 

And I '11 come and see thee in spite o' them a'. 

Though Sandie has owsen, and siller, and kye, 
A house and a haddin', 1 and a' things forbye, 
Yet I wad ha'e Jamie, wi 's bonnet in 's hand, 
Before I 'd ha'e Sandie wi' houses and land. 

My daddie looks sulky, my miunie looks sour, 
They frown upon Jamie, because he is poor ; 
But daddie and minnie although that they be, 
There 's nane o' them a' like my Jamie to me. 



1 A holding 



JENNY NETTLES. 397 

I sit on my creepie, 1 and spin at my wheel, 
And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel ; 
He had but ae sixpence — he brak it in twa, 
And he gi'ed me the hanf o't when he gaed awa'. 
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa', 
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa' ; 
The simmer is comin', cauld winter 's awa', 
And ye '11 come and see me in spite o' them a'. 



JENNY NETTLES. 

Every child in rural Scotland has heard nurse-maids singing 
a ranting and lively song, beginning with the following verses : 

Saw ye Jenny Nettles, 

Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles ? 
Saw ye Jenny Nettles, 

Coming f rae the market ? 
Wi' bag and baggage on her back, 
Her fee and bountith in her lap, 
Wi' bag and baggage on her back, 

And a baby in her oxter. 

I met ayont the cairnie, 

Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles, 
Singing till her bairnie, &c. 2 

The obscurity of this poor girl has not prevented her tale of 
hapless love from attaining that celebrity which even the home- 
liest of rustic verse can sometimes give. Jenny, disowned by an 
ungrateful lover, and unable to bear the scorn of society, put an 
end to her life, and was buried between two lairds' lands near 
the Lomond Hills, where a cairn of stones was afterwards formed 
to mark the spot, according to ancient usage. It seems strange 
that so tragic a tale should be connected with so merry a melody 

1 A low stool. 

2 The entire song is in Herd's Collection. 



398 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



as that here presented. Upwards of thirty years ago, and 
probably much above a century after the composition of the song, 
a gentleman paying a visit in Fife, found himself in the neigh- 
bourhood of the spot where the cairn of Jenny Nettles had once 
stood. Causing a digging to be commenced, he found at the 
depth of eighteen inches a skull and some other bones, with two 
ear-rings and twenty-four beads — supposed to be relics of this 
unfortunate maiden. 1 

A song of greater elegance and more refined sentiment, but 
not of a high degree of merit, was composed at a later period in 
honour of the name of Jenny Nettles. 



s^iS^nHS^ 



I met ayont the cairnie, Jenny Nettles trig and braw, A- 

^ --^-1H- q=fa=p: 



m 



S 



£ 



mang the shaws o' Bar-nie, Skipping light - ly bare -foot: The 



1 ^=^#^ =^ ^^ Eg ^*Sg^ »=-fc 



spreading ros-es wet with dew Are no sae sweet as Jenny's mou', Her 



i 



J^TT-fr 



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dimpled cheeks and een so blue, A - mang the heather barefoot. 

I met ayont the cairnie, 
Jenny Nettles trig and braw, 
Amang the shaws o' Barnie, 
Skipping lightly barefoot : 

1 Some of these relics were long in the possession of the late Mr Robert 
Frazer, honorary curator of the museum of the Society of the Antiquaries 
of Scotland. See Notes to Johnson's Scots Musical Museum. The skull 
is in possession of Mr Joseph Paton, Dunfermline. 



JENNY NETTLES. 399 

The spreading roses wet with dew 
Are no sae sweet as Jenny's mou', 
Her dimpled cheeks and een so blue, 
Amang the heather barefoot. 



I took her hand, I pressed it — 
I asked if she could fancy me ; 
My heart ye ha'e distressed it, 

Coming frae the market. 
My bonnie lass both trig and neat, 
Nae fairer trips on London street, 
Your glancing een subdues my heart, 

Amang the heather barefoot. 



My haddin' stands on yonder glen, 
I ha'e a but, I ha'e a ben ; 
Gin ye '11 be lady o' my ain, 

Ye '11 gang nae langer barefoot. 
I met ayont the cairnie, 
Jenny Nettles trig and braw, 
Aniang the shaws o' Barnie, 

Skipping lightly barefoot. 



A silken gown then ye shall hae, 
A cleaden new frae tap to tae, 
A pair o' shoon and stockings tae, 

To keep you frae gaun barefoot 
I met ayont the cairnie, 
Jenny Nettles trig and braw, 
Amang the shaws o' Barnie, 

Skipping lightly barefoot. 



400 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



LOW DOUN IN THE BRUME. 

This rustic ditty is not of great age, but nevertheless enjoys a 
large measure of popular admiration. The origin and authorship 
of the words and music are involved in doubt. 1 



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My dad -die is a cankert carle, He '11 no twine wi' his gear; My 



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let them say, or let them do, It's a' ane to me, For he' 

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low doun, he's in the brume, That's wait - in' on me: 

1 ' This song is said to be the production of James Carnegie, Esq. of 
Balnamoon, a beautiful estate upon the slope of the Grampians, about 
five miles north-west of Brechin. A correspondent, who has kindly 
furnished the substance of this notice, says : " I have conversed with a 
worthy farmer of fourscore, who has lived on the Balnamoon estate from 
infancy. The garrulous old fellow observed, ' I kent the auld laird weel ; 
he was a curious body, and there 's nae doubt but he made up the sang.' 
He was firmly attached to the House of Stuart, and went out in the 
Forty-five. After the quelling of that unhappy rebellion, he lived for 
some time in the capacity of a shepherd to one of his hill-farmers ; but 
the interest of the Arbuthnot family, with which he was connected 
by marriage, soon restored him to his home and to the world." ' — Harp 
of Caledonia, vol. ii. p. 387. 



LOW DOUN IN THE BRUME. 



401 



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Wait -in' on me, my love, He 's wait- in' on me: For he's 



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low doun, he's in the brnme, That's wait - in' on me. 

My daddie is a cankert carle, 

He '11 no twine wi' his gear ; 
My minnie she 's a scauldin' wife, 
Hands a' the house asteer. 

But let them say, or let them do, 

It 's a' ane to me, 
For he 's low doun, he 's in the brume, 

That 's waitin' on me : 
Waitin' on me, my love, 

He's waitin' on me : 
For he 's low doun, he 's in the brume, 
That 's waitin' on me. 

My auntie Kate sits at her wheel, 

And sair she lightlies me ; 
But weel I ken it 's a' envy, 

For ne'er a joe has she. 
And let them say, &c. 

My cousin Kate was sair beguiled 

Wi' Johnie o' the Glen ; 
And aye sinsyne she cries, Beware 

0' fause deluding men. 

Gleed Sandy he cam west yestreen, 
And speir'd when I saw Pate ; 

And aye sinsyne the neebors round 
They jeer me air and late. 



402 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE. 

In Herd's Collection is a long rambling dialogue song, of not 
much merit, but sustained by a melody of uncommon beauty, 
and, for a Scotch sentimental air, animation. After the song 
had been in a great measure laid aside, the air retained popu- 
larity, and of late years it has been insured a sort of immortality 
by being adapted for the melody of Burns's charming song, A 
Rose-bud by my early walk. The present editor, unwilling to see 
the original rustic song entirely perish, has here condensed 
and purified it, so as to fit it for modern society. 



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o'er the lee, Will ye comehame a - gain e'en, jo? What 



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THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE. 



403 



I come hame, What shall I ha'e gin I come hame, Gin 




I come hame a - gain e'en, jo ? 



The shepherd's wife cries o'er the lee, 
Cries o'er the lee, cries o'er the lee, 

The shepherd's wife cries o'er the lee, 
Will ye come hame again e'en, jo ? 

What shall I ha'e gin I come hame, 
Gin I come hame, gin I come hame, 

What shall I ha'e gin I come hame, 
Gin I come hame again e'en, jo ? 

Ye '11 ha'e a panfu' o' plumping porridge, 
And butter in them, and butter in them, 

Ye '11 ha'e a panfu' o' plumping porridge, 
Gin ye '11 come hame again e'en, jo. 

Ha ha how, that 's naething that dow, 
I winna come hame, I winna come hame 

Ha ha how, that 's naething that dow, 
I winna come hame again e'en, jo ! 

Ye '11 ha'e your wifie's welcome smile, 
Her welcome smile, her welcome smile, 

Ye '11 ha'e your loving wifie's smile, 
Gin ye '11 come hame again e'en, jo. 

Ha ha now, that 's something that dow, 
I will come hame, I will come hame ; 

Ha ha now, that 's something that dow, 
I will come hame again e'en, jo. 



404 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE PLOUGHMAN. 

The Ploughman appears in Herd's Collection. Subsequently 
Johnson gave the air in his Museum, but with the song thrown 
into a new form by Burns. There is another version, very 
much corrupted, in Cunningham's Songs of Scotland. In the 
present case, the air and the old verses are given together. 

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THE PLOUGHMAN. 405 

The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad, 

And a' his wark 's at leisure ; 
And, when that he comes hame at e'en, 
He kisses me wi' pleasure. 

Up wi 't now, 1 my ploughman lad ! 

Up wi 't now, my ploughman ! 
Of a' the lads that I do see, 

Commend me to the ploughman. 

Now the blooming spring comes on, 

He takes his yoking early, 
And, ' whistling o'er the furrowed land,' 2 

He goes to fallow clearly. 

When my ploughman comes hame at e'en, 

He 's often wet and wearie ; 
Cast aft the wet, put on the dry, 

And gae to bed, my dearie. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 

And I will wash his owerlay, 
And I will make my ploughman's bed, 

And cheer him late and early. 

Merry but, and merry ben, 

Merry is my ploughman ; 
Of a' the trades that I do ken, 

Commend me to the ploughman. 

Plough yon hill, and plough yon dale, 

Plough yon faugh and fallow ; 
Wha winna drink the ploughman's health, 

Is but a dirty fellow ! 

1 A Scottish phrase of high exultation, which seems to be only used in 
songs : 

Up wi 't, Ailie, Ailie,, 
Up wi 't, Ailie, now ! 

Old Song. 
2 Milton. 



406 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



AYE WAUKIN' ! 



There are various versions of this simple old song, but none so 
good as the following, which was taken from recitation many 
years ago, and inserted in a collection edited by Mr Robert 
Chambers in 1829. Burns furnished an improved version to 
Johnson's Museum. 



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6weet bird builds her nest, And I lang for my lov - er. 



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Sleep I can get nane, For think - in' o' 

spring 's a pleasant time, 
Flowers o' every colour — 
The sweet bird builds her nest, 
And I lang for my lover. 
Aye waukin' O, 

Waukin' aye, and weary, 
Sleep I can get nane, 

For thinkin' o' my dearie. 



my dear - ie. 



THE LEE-RIG. 407 

Ol'm wat, wat, 

Ol'm wat and weary ; 
Yet fain I 'd rise and run 

If I thought to meet my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I 'm eerie .; 
Sleep I can get nane, 

For thinkin' o' my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on ; 

A' the lave are sleeping ; 
I think on my love, 

And blear my een wi' greeting. 

Feather-beds are soft, 

Painted rooms are bonnie ; 
But a kiss o' my dear love 

Is better far than ony. 

O for Friday's night, 

Friday at the gloaming ! 
O for Friday's night ! 

Friday 's lang o' coming. 



THE LEE-RIG. 

There was an old rustic song, of which the first verse only has 
been preserved : 

I '11 rowe thee o'er the lee-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, ; 
I '11 rowe thee o'er the lee-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0. 
Although the night were ne'er sae wet, 

And I were ne'er sae weary, 0, 
I '11 rowe thee o'er the lee-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0. 



408 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



White the verses were homely and unfit for the polite, the 
air had liveliness and character sufficient to recommend it for 
preservation in Oswald's Collection. Robert Fergusson after- 
wards composed to it the song here presented. At a subsequent 
period, Burns composed a song to the same air. 



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KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME. 409 

Will ye gang o'er the lee-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0, 
And cuddle there sae kindly 

WT me, my kind dearie, ? 

At thorny dike and birken-treej 

"We '11 daff and ne'er be weary, 0, 
They '11 scug ill een frae you and me, 

My ain kind dearie, 0. 



Nae herds wi' kent and colly there 
Shall ever come to fear ye, O ; 

But laverocks whistling in the air 
Shall woo, like me, their dearie, 0. 

While others herd their lambs and ewes, 
And toil for warld's gear, my jo, 

Upon the lee my pleasure grows, 
Wi' you, my kind dearie, 0. 



KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME. 

There was a very old song called Kind Robin Lo'es Me, but of 
a rude and homely character, and of which no more than 
two verses have been preserved : 

Hech, hey, Robin, quo' she, 

Hech, hey, Robin, quo' she, 

Hech, hey, Robin, quo' she, 

Kind Robin lo'es me, &c. 

In Herd's Collection appeared the song here presented, which 
has been much a favourite in Scotland. 



410 



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SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Robin is my only jo, 

For Robin has the art to lo'e ; 

Sae to his suit I mean to bow, 

Because I ken he lo'es me. 
Happy, happy was the shower, 
That led me to his birken bower, 
Where first of love I fand the power, 

And kenn'd that Robin lo'ed me. 



KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME. 411 

They speak of napkins, speak of rings, 
Speak of gluves and kissin' strings ; 
And name a thousand bonnie things, 

And ca' them signs he lo'es me. 
But I 'd prefer a smack o' Rob, 
Seated on the velvet fog, 
To gifts as laug's a plaiden wab ; 

Because I ken he lo'es me. 



He 's tall and sonsie, frank and free, 
Lo'ed by a', and dear to me ; 
Wi' him I 'd live, wi' him I 'd dee, 

Because my Robin lo'es me. 
My tittie Mary said to me, 
Our courtship but a joke wad be, 
And I or lang be made to see 

That Robin didna lo'e me. 

But little kens she what has been, 
Me and my honest Rob between ; 
And in his wooing, sae keen 

Kind Robin is that lo'es me. 
Then fly, ye lazy hours, away, 
And hasten on the happy day, 
When, Join your hands, Mess John will say. 

And mak him mine that lo'es me. 

Till then, let every chance unite 
To fix our love and give delight, 
And I '11 look down on such wi' spite. 
Wha doubt that Robin lo'es me. 
O hey, Robin ! quo' she, 
O hey, Robin ! quo' she, 
hey, Robin ! quo' she ; 
Kind Robin lo'es me. 



412 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND. 

This touching little rustic ballad appeared in Herd's Collection. 
It was reproduced in Johnson's Museum, with some changes, and 
with the air, which Mr Stenhouse considers as having afforded 
a basis for William Marshall's well-known tune, Miss Admiral 
Gordon's Strathspey, to which Burns composed Of ft' the Airts the 
Wind can Blaw. 



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twined my love and me. 

My love he 's built a bonnie ship, and set her on the sea. 
With seven score guid mariners to bear her companie. 
There 's three score is sunk, and three score dead at sea ; 
And the lowlands of Holland ha'e twined my love and me. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 



413 



My love he built another ship, and set her on the main, 
And nane bnt twenty mariners for to bring her hame ; 
But the weary wind began to rise, and the sea began to rout ; 
My love, then, and his bonnie ship, turn'd withershins x about. 

There shall neither coif come on my head, nor kame come in 

my hair ; 
There shall neither coal nor candle-licht come in my bouir mair ; 
Nor will I love another man until the day I dee, 
For I never loved a love but ane, and he 's drown'd in the sea. 

0, haud your tongue, my daughter dear, be still and be content ; 
There are mair lads in Galloway, ye need na sair lament. 
! there is nane in Galloway, there 's nane at a' for me ; 
For I never loved a love but ane, and he 's drown'd in the sea. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 



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1 In a direction contrary to the course of the sun. 



414 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 

Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame ! 
Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, 

Now I have gotten my Willie again ! 

Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie ; 

Through the lang muir I have followed him hame. 
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us ; 

Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain. 

Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 

Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame ! 
Come, love, believe me, nothing can grieve me, 

Ilka thing pleases while Willie 's at hame. 

For this beautiful song — verses and air — we are indebted to 
the collections of Herd and Oswald. Burns, who admired the 
latter extremely, composed to it a ballad of his own, represen- 
tative of the feelings of his friend Mrs M'Lehose (Clarinda) 
regarding the husband who had deserted her. 



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I LO'E NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE. 



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I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane, 

He lo'es ne'er a lassie but me : 
He 's promised to mak me bis ain, 

And his ain I am willing to be. 
He coft me a rokelay o' blue, 

And a pair o' mittens o' green ; 
The price was a kiss o' my mou' ; 

And I paid him the debt yestreen. 



Let ithers brag weel o' their gear, 
Their land, and their lordly degree 

I carena for ought but my dear, 
For he 's ilka thing lordly to me : 



416 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet ! 

His sense drives ilk fear far awa' ! 
I listen — poor fool ! and I greet ; 

Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa' ! 

Dear lassie, he cries wi' a jeer, 

Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say ; 
Though we 've little to brag o' — ne'er fear ; 

What 's gowd to a heart that is wae ? 
Our laird has baith honours and wealth, 

Yet see how he 's dwining wi' care ; 
Now we, though we 've naething but health, 

Are cantie and leal evermair. 

Marion ! the heart that is true, 

Has something mair costly than gear ; 
Ilk e'en it has naething to rue — 

Ilk morn it has naething to fear. 
Ye warldlings, gae hoard up your store, 

And tremble for fear ought you tyne ; 
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, 

While here in my arms I lock mine ! 

He ends wi' a kiss and a smile — 

Wae 's me, can I tak it amiss ? 

My laddie 's unpractised in guile, 

He 's free aye to daut and to kiss ! 
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment 

Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, 
Play your pranks — I ha'e gi'en my consent, 
And this night I am Jamie's for life. 
The first verse of this song, and another verse not reproduced 
here, are stated by Ritson to have been composed by ' J. D. ;' 
but Burns ascribes them to Mr John Clunie, minister of Borth- 
wick, Edinburghshire. This reverend gentleman, who is remem- 
bered as a good singer of Scotch songs, died on the 13th April 
1 8 19, at the age of sixty-two. The remaining verses were the 
composition of Hector Macneill. 



WEBSTER'S LINES. 

Oh, how could I venture to love one like thee, 

And you not despise a poor conquest like me, 

On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain, 

And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain ? 

You said, while they teased you with nonsense and dress, 

"When real the passion, the vanity 's less ; 

You saw through that silence which others despise, 

And, while "beaux were a-talking, read love in my eyes. 

Oh, how shall I fauld thee, and kiss a' thy charms, 
Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your arms ; 
Through all the wild transports of ecstasy tost, 
Till, sinking together, together we 're lost ! 
Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy, 
Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy ; 
And when the short raptures are all at an end, 
From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend ? 



In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal 
(Too nice for expression), what only we feel : 
In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien, 
The graces in waiting adorn you unseen. 
When I see you I love you, when hearing adore ; 
I wonder and think you a woman no more : 
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain, 
And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again. 

With thee in my bosom, how can I despair ? 
I '11 gaze on thy beauties, and look awa' care ; 
I '11 ask thy advice, when with troubles opprest, 
Which never displeases, but always is best. 



418 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

In all that I write I '11 thy judgment require ; 
Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire. 
I '11 kiss thee and press thee till youth is all o'er, 
And then live in friendship, when passion 's no more. 

What appears as the first draught of this amatory lyric was 
printed in the Scots Magazine for November 1747, and subse- 
quently in the Charmer, 175 1, with the signature 'A. W r.' 

The person here hinted at was a notable evangelical divine and 
leader in the church-courts through all the middle years of the 
last century, the Rev. Alexander Webster. Previous to his death 
in 1 784, he had been for the greater part of his life minister of 
the Tolbooth Church, Edinburgh, where he gathered about 
him a congregation of special zeal and faithfulness in Calvinistic 
convictions, who came to be commonly recognised as the 
Tolbooth Whigs. The great fact of his life was his organ- 
isation of the scheme of a Fund for the Widows of Ministers 
of the Scotch Kirk — a most beneficial institution. One of 
inferior moment, but still remarkable, was his leading the per- 
secution against those of his brethren who had been concerned 
in bringing forward the tragedy of Douglas. Powerful evan- 
gelical preaching, immense capacity for claret, strong head 
for calculations, opposition to theatricals, good-fellowship over 
corporation and presbyterial dinners, were the somewhat incon- 
gruous characteristics of Alexander Webster. It is but another 
oddity in so strange a composition, that he should have written 
so erotic an effusion as his Lines. The legend on that subject 
is that, acting as black-foot for a friend who was in love with a 
lady of rank, he unexpectedly made a favourable impression on 
the fair one himself, and was consequently inspired with this 
song breathing gratitude as well as love. The lady, who became 
Dr Webster's wife, was Mary Erskine, daughter of Colonel 
John Erskine (brother of Alva) by Eupheme, sister of Thomas, 
eighth Earl of Dundonald. She was born in 1715, and died 
in 1766. 



BIDE YE YET. 

We are indebted to Herd for the preservation of this cheerful 
little song, and to Johnson for giving ns its air. 



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420 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Gin I had a wee house and a cantie wee fire, 
A bonnie wee wine to praise and admire, 
A bonnie wee yardie beside a wee burn, 
Fareweel to the bodies that yammer and mourn. 
And bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, 
Ye little ken what may betide ye yet ; 
Some bonnie wee bodie may fa' to my lot, 
And I '11 aye be cantie wi' thinkin' o't. 

When I gang afield and come hame at e'en, 
I '11 get my wee wifie fu' neat and fu' clean ; 
And a bonnie wee bairnie upon her knee, 
That '11 cry Papa, or Daddie, to me. 

And if there ever should happen to be 

A difference atween my wee wifie and me ; 

In hearty good-humour, although she be teased, 

I '11 kiss her and clap her until she be pleased. 



FOR LACK OF GOLD. 

Miss Jean Drummond, daughter of John Drummond of 
Megginch, in Perthshire, was on some terms of affection with 
Dr Austin, an accomplished physician in Edinburgh, when 
unluckily the Duke of Athole called one day at her father's 
house, was struck by her tall elegant figure, and sought and 
won her for his bride. The forsaken swain gave vent to his 
feelings in the following song, which attained a certain degree 
of popularity, and found its way into Herd's Collection. The 
marriage of the duke to Miss Drummond took place on the 
7th May 1749. Surviving her husband without issue, she 
married, for a second, Lord Adam Gordon, fourth son of Alex- 
ander, second Duke of Gordon, and commander of the forces in 
Scotland. She died in 1795, and was buried at Inveresk, where 
a handsome monument to her memory may be seen. Notwith- 
standing the jilted lover's declaration of eternal celibacy, he 
married and had a large family. 



FOR LACK OF GOLD. 



421 



The song was composed to an air previously in existence in 
connection with a song, beginning ' For the lack of gold I lost 
her, O.' 



*£ 



Hi 



£=&- 



SE 



O 



For lack of gold she has left 



*=6f 



0, And of 



SS 



& 



all that's dear she's be - reft me, 0; 



She 



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=i=P= 



=S£=S^£ 



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me for - sook for A - thole's duke, And to 



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m 



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fe 



r& 



z**r. 



end - less woe she has left me, 



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and 



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have more art Than 






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t^ 



youth 



and faith - ful heart; Fc 



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gg ^=^l 



eurp 



ty ti - ties 



must part — F< 






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glut' - ring show she has left me, 0. 



422 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

For lack of gold she lias left me, O, 

And of all that 's dear she 's bereft me, ; 

She me forsook for Athole's duke, 

And to endless woe she has left me, O. 
A star and garter have more art 
Than youth, a true and faithful heart ; 
For empty titles we must part — 

For glitt'ring show she has left me, O. 



No cruel fair shall ever move 
My injured heart again to love ; 
Through distant climates I must rove, 

Since Jeany she has left me, 0.' 
Ye powers above, I to your care 
Kesign my faithless, lovely fair ; 
Your choicest blessing be her share, 

Though she has ever left me, 0. 



THERE 'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. 

This most felicitous song first appeared on the streets about 
1772, and it was soon after taken into Herd's Collection. The 
authorship is a matter of doubt. A copy of it, like a first draught, 
was found among the papers of William Julius Mickle, the 
elegant translator of the Lusiad, and the song has hence been 
believed to be his, notwithstanding that he did not include it 
in his own works. On the other hand, there has been some 
plausible argument to shew that it must have been the work of 
a Mrs Jean Adams, who kept a school at Crawford's Dyke, 
near Greenock. The solution of the question seems now 
unattainable. 



THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. 



423 



$ 



1F=F 



And are 



ye 



sure the news is true? And 



m 



are ye sure he 's weil ? 



this 



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£^ 



think 



wark? Ye jauds, fling by your wheel. Is 



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s 



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t 



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this a time to think o' wark, When Col - in 's at the 



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3^ 



door? Rax down my cloak - 



the quay, And 



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£e 



3* 



see him come 



shore. For there's nae luck a- 



l is^^ pg 



bout the house, There 's nae luck at 



There 's 



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^m 



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nae luck a - bout the house, When our guidman 's a - wa' 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 

And are ye sure he 's weil ? 
Is this a time to think o' wark ? 

Ye jauds, fling by your wheel. 



424 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Is this a time to think o' wark, 

When Colin 's at the door 1 
Rax down my cloak — I '11 to the quay, 
And see him come ashore. 

For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There 's nae luck at a', 
There 's nae luck about the house, 
When our guidman 's awa'. 

Rise up and make a clean fireside, 

Put on the mickle pat ; 
Gie little Kate her cotton goun, 

And Jock his Sunday's coat. 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 

Their stockins white as snaw ; 
It 's a' to pleasure our guidman — 

He likes to see them braw. 

There are twa hens into the crib, 

Ha'e fed this month and mair, 
Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weil may fare. 
My turkey slippers I '11 put on, 

My stockins pearl-blue — 
It 's a' to pleasure our guidman, 

For he 's baith leal and true. 

Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue 

His breath 's like cauler air ; 
His very fit has music in 't, 

As he comes up the stair. 
And will I see Ms face again ? 

And will I hear him speak ? 
I 'm downricht dizzy wi' the thoucht : 

In troth I 'in like to greet. 



THE BOATIE ROWS. 

This beautiful song of the domestic affections, which Burns 
thought nearly equal to There 's nae Luck about the House, was 
stated by hini to have been the composition of ' a Mr Ewen of 
Aberdeen,' and the statement has never been contradicted. The 
person referred to appears to have been Mr John Ewen, a dealer 
in hardware in Aberdeen, who died on the 21st of October 1821, 
at the age of eighty. He was a native of Montrose, and at his 
death he destined his entire fortune, of about £16,000, for the 
founding of a hospital for the nurture and education of poor 
children in that burgh. It will be learned with surprise, that in 
this destination he overlooked a daughter who had married, as 
he probably thought, imprudently — a strange comment of fact 
upon the sentiment so touchingly indicated in the song. The 
will, however, was set aside by a decision of the House of Lords. 




boat - ie 



row, 



mm 



1S-1S — N 



That wins the bairns' bread ! The 

-N N — IV— 



- fr— £=* = 



boat - ie rows, the boat - ie rows, The boat - ie rows in- 



426 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



ii^ 



i=i 



deed; And hap - py 



the 



lot of 



That 



S= 



wish - es her to 



O weel may the boatie row, 

And better may she speed ! 
And weel may the boatie row, 

That wins the bairns' bread ! 
The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows indeed ; 
And happy be the lot of a' 

That wishes her to speed ! 



I cuist my line in Largo Bay, 

And fishes I caught nine ; 
There 's three to boil, and three to fry, 

And three to bait the line. 
The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows indeed ; 
And happy be the lot of a' 

That wishes her to speed ! 



O weel may the boatie row, 

That fills a heavy creel, 
And cleads us a' frae head to feet, 

And buys our parritch-meal. 
The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows indeed ; 
And happy be the lot of a' 

That wish the boatie speed. 



THE BOATIE ROWS. 427 

When Jamie vow'd lie would be mine, 
And wan frae me my heart, 

muckle lighter grew my creel ! 
He swore we 'd never part. 

The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
And muckle lighter is the lade, 

When love bears up the creel. 

My kurch I put upon my head, 
And dress'd mysel fu' braw ; 

1 trow my heart was douf and wae, 
When Jamie gaed awa' : 

But weel may the boatie row, 

And lucky be her part ; 
And lightsome be the lassie's care 

That yields an honest heart ! 

When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetie, 

Are up, and gotten lear, 
They '11 help to gar the boatie row, 

And lighten a' our care. 
The boatie. rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
And lightsome be her heart that bears 

The murlain and the creel ! 

And when wi' age we 're worn down, 

And hirpling round the door, 
They '11 row to keep us hale and warm, 

As we did them before : 
Then, weel may the boatie row, 

That wins the bairns' bread ; 
And happy be the lot of a' 

That wish the boat to speed ! 1 

1 From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, voL v., published circa 1796. 
It is customary to abridge this song when sung, by giving only the first, 
second, and sixth verses. 



428 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

This fine modern air is the genuine tune of the ballad. Some 
years ago it was arranged as a glee, for three voices, by Mr 
William Knyvett of London, and has deservedly become very 
popular. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

This king of all the Scotch ballads had a curious and interest- 
ing history. There was an old song of popular extraction, 
known by its refrain, 'The bridegroom grat [that is, wept] 
when the sun gaed down ; ' very foolish, but furnished with 
a pleasing air. An eccentric masculine lady, of great note 
in Scottish society, named Sophy Johnstone, sang this song 
to the youthful family of the Earl of Balcarres at Balcarres 
House, in Fife, and impressed Lady Anne in particular with 
a deep sense of the beauty of the melody. Soon after the 
close of the year 1771, Lady Anne, finding herself much alone 
in the paternal mansion, and rather melancholy, bethought 
herself of attempting, with such power of verse as she possessed, 
to compose, to the plaintive tones which had pleased her so 
much, some little history of virtuous distress in humble life 
such as might suit them. Taking the name of the old cow-herd 
of her father's home-farm — Robin Gray — she represented a 
young maiden as obliged by family misfortunes to accept him for 
a lover, and as being soon after overwhelmed with grief on the 
discovery that a youthful sweetheart, supposed to be dead, was 
still alive. It would appear from a recital of her own, that the 
ballad did not at first take fully the shape it afterwards bore, 
for she said one day to her little sister (subsequently Countess 
of Hardwicke), ' My dear, I have been writing a ballad — I am 
oppressing my heroine with many misfortunes — I have already 
sent her Jamie to sea, and broken her father's arm, and made her 
mother fall sick, and given her auld Robin Gray for a lover ; 
but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow in the four lines, poor 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 



429 



thing ! help me to one, I pray.' ' Steal the cow, sister Anne ! ' 
said the little Elizabeth. So the cow was immediately lifted, 
and the ballad completed. It soon got into circulation, without 
the name of the fair author, which was long a matter of mystery. 




Balcarres. 

Lady Anne survived to 1 825, and only acknowledged the author- 
ship near the close of her life. She had, in 1793, married Sir 
Andrew Bernard, librarian to George III., who died in 1807. 

Cordial as the reception of this fine song was from the 
beginning, it could not be said to experience the enthusiastic 
admiration which it now enjoys, till it was accommodated with a 
superior melody by the Kev. William Leeves, Rector of Wrington, 
in Somersetshire, the melody to which it is now invariably sung. 



430 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Mr Leeves's melody, not being Scottish, is, of course, only 
admitted here by sufferance, or for convenience. It seems 




Mr Leeves's Cottage, Weston-super-mare. 

proper that the original Scottish air should be added. It is here 
transcribed from Johnson's Museum: 



£e* 



c, E 1 



kzz: 



When th 



the fauld, and the 



p^ g-L^ m 



kye 



at hame, And 



the warld to 




nnrt mE t, r J.M 



are gane ; The waes o' my heart fa' in 



m 



% 



showers frae my e'e, When my guid - man lies 



■p^m- 



sound by 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 



431 



When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
And a' the warld to sleep are gane ; 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
When my guidman lies sound by me. 



I 



■3e&. 



:*— e 



Young Jam 



loo'd me 



weil, 



and 



w^m^mEm^ ^^ 



socht me for his bride ; But sav - ing a croun, he had 



pip^esi^lil 



naethine: 



- side : To mak that croun a pund, young 



m 



-m 



^ 



» 



^5 



fc£ 



U 



Jam - ie gaed to sea ; And the croun and the pund were 



i^lp^n^^^^ 



baith for me. 



He 



had - na been a - wa' 



S*^^iEiS£i£Sa 



i^P 



*^ 



week but on 

n ft 


- ly twa, When my mother she fell sick, and the 


. v ftu 


* K 


s 1 ^ 


IV ^ IS I fi K 


A S 


11 K 








MY *T 4 






^> a . 4 


!> |> d . • •# I # J 


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t • 




V 








m J . s ^ 



cow was stown a - wa' ; My father brak his arm, and young 



432 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



k-TTj T^T W f^r^ r- 



3 



Jam - ie at the sea, And auld Rob - in Gray cam a- 



P^Pgpp 



Young Jamie loo'd me weil, and socht me for his bride ; 
But saving a croun, he had naething else beside : 
To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; 
And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 

He haclna been awa' a week but only twa, 
When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa' ; 
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea, 
And auld Robin Gray cam a-courtin' me. 

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
I toil'd day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win ; 
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e, 
Said, Jennie, for their sakes. oh, marry me ! 

My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back ; 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck : 
The ship it was a wreck — why didna Jamie dee ? 
Or why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 

My father argued sair : my mother didna speak ; 
But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break : 
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea 
And auld Robin Gray was guidman to me. 

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 couldna think it he, 
Till he said, I 'm come back for to marry thee. 

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



ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. 

I wish I were deid ! but I 'm no like to dee ; 
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin 
But I '11 do my best a guid wife to be, 
For auld Kobin Gray is kind unto me. 



433 



BOY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. 
This pretty, lively song was the composition of a lady of 




Mrs Grant of Carron. 

family, named Grant, born at Aberlour on Speyside, Banffshire, 
2b 



434 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



about 1 745 — who married in succession her cousin, Mr Grant of 
Carron, near Elchies, and a Dr Murray, physician in Bath, where 
she died about 1814. A portrait of her, representing her as a 
handsome middle-aged lady in a beautiful dress of the last 
century, was brought forward in the remarkable museum of local 
antiquities and other objects of interest which graced the meeting 
of the British Association at Aberdeen in 1859. 



=& 



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E 



3 



I 



Roy's wife 



Al - di 



val - loch. 



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W=$ 



Roy's 



wife 



of 



Al 



val 



13 



loch, 



i 



^=£ 



Wat ye 



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how she cheat - ed me. 



r==fc 



As 



£=^— *-^£l 



cam o'er the braes 



Bal - loch. 



m 



^ 



i 



She vowed, she swore, she w; 



mine, Sht 



EE* 



^^ 



said she lo'ed me best of 



m 



on - y ; But 



:EEEg 



g=g 



if= 



oh! 



fie 



kle, faith - less quean, She's 



ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. 



435 



fe 



^ 



==£ 



left 



John 



ta'en the carle, 



& 



and 



her 



Roy's 



m 



wife 



val 



loch. 



Roy'i 



m 



wife 



Al 



val 



loch, 



Wat 



how 



cheat 



ed 



feg 



As 



the 



braes 



Bal - loch. 



Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 
Roy's wife of Aldivallocli, 
Wat ye how she cheated me, 
As I cam o'er the braes o' Balloch. 

She vowed, she swore, she wad be mine, 
She said she lo'ed me best of ony ; 

But oh ! the fickle, faithless quean, 

She 's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnie. 
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c. 

0, she was a canty quean, 

Weel could she dance the Highland walloch ; 
How happy I had she been mine, 

Or I been Roy of Aldivalloch ! 
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c. 



436 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 

Her face sae fair, her een sae clear, 

Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie ; 

To me she ever will be dear, 

Though, she 's for ever left her Johnie. 
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c. 

It is one of the cases where a kind of immortality has been 
achieved by the writing of one successful song — for no other 
composition of Mrs Grant has ever come before the world. It 
is also one of those cases where a person of refinement has taken 
up and successfully purified an old vulgar song. It appears that 
there was a real Boy of Aldivalloch. 'On the 21st February 
1727, John Roy, lawful son to Thomas Roy in Aldivalloch, was 
married to Isabel daughter of Alister Stewart, sometime resident 
in Cabrach [Highlands of Aberdeenshire].' l It is to be feared 
that the marriage was not a fitting or a happy one, for Mr Peter 
Buchan has preserved a homely ballad, from which it can be 
gathered that Roy was an old man, and that ' Tibbie ' on one 
occasion was induced to leave her husband's house with a certain 
•' Davie Gordon in Kirktown,' but was pursued by Roy, and 
brought back, after an escape over the braes of Balloch. 

Silly body, Aldivalloch, 
Puir body, Aldivalloch ; 
He lost his hose and baith his shoon, 
Coming through the braes of Balloch. 2 

On the basis of this rough rustic ditty, Mrs Grant of Elchies pro- 
duced the canzonet of disappointed love here for the hundredth 
time printed. 

1 Robert Carruthers in Inverness Courier. The Banffshire Journal, in 
January i860, recorded the death of Margaret Roy, aged seventy-four, at 
Aldivalloch, in the Cabrach, Banffshire, the last descendant of the Roys 
of Aldivalloch. 

2 The entire ballad is presented in Mackay's Book of Scottish Songs, 
p. 65. The Banffshire Journal, in recording the death of Margaret Roy, 
states that an old lady who died in the Cabrach some years ago recollected 
the Roy of the ballad, which she said was the composition of a shoemaker 
residing in the neighbourhood of Aldivalloch. 



LOCH ERROCH SIDE. 

The melody of this song — than which there is scarcely any in 
greater popular favour, or more deserving of it — was long known 
as a dancing tune. The song here given in connection with it 
being that from which it takes its ordinary name, was written 
for it by a singular genius recognised in Edinburgh as Balloon 
Tytler, from an attempt he made in the art of aerostation about 
the time of its invention in France. Old Alister Campbell, 
who remembered the affair, described it to me a great many 
years ago in brief terms : ' Tytler's baloon,' said he, ' rose over a 
dyke, and then quietly settled on a midden.' It was a type of 
most of his ventures in life. I have seen a periodical work of 
which he was the author, but which he could not be said to have 
written, the truth being that he composed it at the printer's case 
from his own thoughts, without the usual intervention of manu- 
script. In him, some singular mental gifts were clouded by 
poverty and depressing family cares, and at length, having 
adopted the views of the Friends of the People, he was com- 
pelled to make an abrupt flight to America. He died, while 
editor of a newspaper, at Salem, Massachusetts, in the year 
1805, aged fifty-eight. 




m 



W 



!^S 



•-*- 



As I ca 


m by Loch Er 

, — PS N , 

—tt — jr — p«r~ 


- roch side, The 

■■ v K INr 


ffi « J. J* -J — *- 


•J. — • R-. 

9-9 J 


■^ I s f J- 



lof - ty hills sur - vey - ing, The wat - er clear, the 



heather blooms Their fra -grance sweet con - vey - ing; 



§^§5 



met, un - sought, my love - ly maid, I 



Ife^^gl^te 



found her like May morn - ing; With graces sweet, and 



fe^^aii^ 



cf — #• 



-i — 

a - dorn - ins 



charms so rare, Her per - son 



all 



As I earn by Loch Erroch side, 

The lofty hills surveying, 
The water clear, the heather blooms 

Their fragrance sweet conveying ; 
I met, unsought, my lovely maid, 

I found her like May morning ; 
"With graces sweet, and charms so rare, 

Her person all adorning. 

How kind her looks, how blest was I, 

While in my arms 1 prest her ! 
And she her wishes scarce conceal'd, 

As fondly I caress'd her : 
She said, If that your heart be true, 

If constantly you '11 love me, 
I heed not care nor fortune's frowns, 

For nought but death shall move me. 



LOCH ERROCH SIDE. 439 

But faithful, loving, true, and kind, 

For ever thou shalt find me ; 
And of our meeting here so sweet, 

Loch Erroch sweet shall mind me. 
Enraptured then, My lovely lass, 

I cried, no more we '11 tarry ! 
We '11 leave the fair Loch Erroch side, 

For lovers soon should marry. 

To this delightful air Burns afterwards composed his song, 
stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay; but both have been 
thrown into the shade in our own time, as far as popularity is 
concerned, by a song called The Lass d Gowrie, of which the 
following seems the best version : 

'Twas on a summer afternoon, 
A wee before the sun gaed down, 
My lassie, wi' her braw new gown, 

Cam o'er the hills to Gowrie. 
The rosebud wet wi' morning shower, 
Blooms fresh within the sunny bower, 
But Katie was the fairest flower 

That ever bloomed in Gowrie. 

I praised her beauty, loud and lang, 
Around her waist my arms I flang, 
And said, My dearie, will ye gang 

To see the Carse o' Gowrie. 
I '11 tak ye to my father's ha', 
In yon green field beside the shaw, 
I '11 mak ye lady o' them a', 

The brawest wife in Gowrie. 

Saft kisses on her lips I laid, 

The blush upon her cheeks soon spread, 

She whispered modestly and said, 

I '11 gang wi' you to Gowrie. 
The auld folks soon gave their consent, 
Syne for Mess John they quickly sent, 
"Wha tied us to our hearts' content, 

And now she 's Lady Gowrie. 



440 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



OWER THE MU1R AMANG THE HEATHER. 



*¥=& 



^ 



Com - in' through the Craigs o' Kyle, A- 



m 



^ 



mang the bon - nie bloom - ing 



heath 



glui 



s^e 



-ra- 



There 



met 



bon 



lass - ie, 



I 



3^t 



m 



Keep - in 
Chorus. 



her ewes the 



sith 



p^^^m^^^ 



Ower the muir 



a - mans the heath - er. 



i 



m 



t^ 



Ower 
-0— b *-^ 


the 

— • — 


muir 


a - mang the heath - 


er, 


IA & 


->- 


— P- 

[? 


» « s p • V 


~ ? 


W-^- 






— V k 





There 



bon 



lass 



5 gj ffi = S 



^ 



Keep - in' 



her ewes the - gith - er. 



OWER THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER. 441 

Comin' through the Craigs o' Kyle, 

Amang the bonnie blooming heather, 
There I met a bonnie lassie, 

Keepin' a' her ewes thegither. 

Ower the muir amang the heather, 
Ower the muir amang the heather, 
There I met a bonnie lassie, 
Keepin' a' her ewes thegither. 

Says I, My dear, where is thy hame, 
In muir or dale, pray tell me whether ? 

She said, I tent the fleecy flocks, 
That feed amang the blooming heather. 

We sat us down upon a bank, 

Sae warm and sunny was the weather ; 

She left her flocks at large to rove, 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 

While thus we sat, she sang a sang, 

Till Echo rang a mile and further, 
And aye the burden o' the sang, 

Was, Ower the muir amang the heather. 

She charmed my heart, and aye sin' syne, 

I couldna think on ony ither : 
By sea and sky she shall be mine, 

The bonnie lass amang the heather ! 

The above song is said to have been the composition of a 
woman named Jean Glover, who, strange to say, had deserted 
respectable, humble Scotch life, to accompany a very poor band 
of strolling-players. Burns tells us, ' I took the song down from 
her singing, as she was wandering through the country with a 
sleight-of-hand blackguard.' 



442 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE. 

gin my love were yon red rose, 

That grows upon the castle-wa', 
And I mysel a drap o' dew, 

Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 
Oh there beyond expression blest, 

I 'd feast on beauty a' the night, 
Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 

Till fleyed awa' by Phoebus' light. 

O were my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing ; 
How I wad mourn when it was torn 

By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
How I wad sing on wanton wing 

When youthfu' May its bloom renewed. 

The first half of this song was published by Herd ; the second 
was afterwards added by Burns. In truth, only the first four 
lines are of any considerable age. They form the beginning of 
a simple old ditty, which had the following as a refrain : 

My love 's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, 

My love 's bonnie and fair to see ; 
And aye when I think on her weel-faured face, 

Then in her company I would be. 

The song, as completed by Burns, has been set to more than one 
air ; but the original and proper one, taking in the above refrain, 
is as follows : 



O GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE. 



443 



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at 



Oh gin my love were 



yon 



rose, That 



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grows up - on 



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a,', And I my - sel 



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drap o' dew, In - to her bon - nie breast to fa'! 



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My love 's bon - nie, bon - nie, bon - nie, My love 's bon - nie and 



t± 



lis 



fair to see; And 



aye when I think on her 



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weel-faured fane, Then in her com - pan - y I would be. 

Oh gin my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa', 
And I mysel a drap o' dew, 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 

My love 's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, 

My love 's bonnie and fair to see ; 
And aye when I think on her weel-faured face, 
Then in her company I would be. 



444 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



FALSE LOVE, AND HA'E YOU PLAYED ME THIS ? 



p^^^^^ mEE^E^m 



False love, and lia'e you played me this, In 



^EjE^E^ElS^P^fe 



sim-mer, 'mid the flow -ers? I sail re -pay thee 



^^^^^eS 



back a - gain, In win - ter, 'mid the show - ers. 

False love, and ha'e you played me this, 

In simmer, 'mid the flowers 1 
I sail repay thee back again, 

In winter, 'mid the showers. 



But again, dear love, and again, dear love, 

Will ye not turn again ? 
As ye look to other women, 

Shall I to other men. 

This romantic fragment appears in Herd's Collection. In Mr 
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads (1827) there is one entitled 
Tlie Gardener, in which a young man of that profession entreats 
the love of a young lady by promising her a dress made of his 
best flowers. Her answer is as follows : 



CAN YE SEW CUSHIONS? 



445 



0, fare ye well, young man, she says, 

Fareweil, and I bid adieu ; 
Gin ye 've provided a weed for me 

Amang the simmer flowers, 
I 've provided another for you 

Amang the winter showers. 

The new-fawn snaw to be your smock, 

It becomes your bodie best ; 
Your heid sail be wrapt in the blae east wind, 

And the cauld rain on your breist. 



CAN YE SEW CUSHIONS ? 



psi^t 



can ye sew cush - ions, Or can ye sew 



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^eee? 



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sheets, Or can ye sing Ba -loo - loo, When the bairnie 

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greets ? And hee and ba - bird - ie, And hee and ba 



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lamb, And hee and ba - bird - ie, My bon - nie wee 



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lamb. 



wee - o, what would I do wi' you ? 



446 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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Black's the life that I lead wi' you. O'er mon - y o' you, 



M K j n * — f - 



lit - tie for to gi'e you, Hee - o, wee - o, 



1^^^ 



what would I do wi' you? 

can ye sew cushions, 
Or can ye sew sheets, 

Or can ye sing Ba-loo-loo, 

When the bairnie greets ? 
And hee and ba-birdie, 

And hee and ba-lamb, 
And hee and ba-birdie, 
My bonnie wee lamb. 

Hee-o, wee-o, what would I do wi' you ? 
Black 's the life that I lead wi' you. 
O'er mony o' you, little for to gi'e you, 
Hee-o, wee-o, what would I do wi' you ? 

1 've placed my cradle 

On yon holly top, 
And aye, as the wind blew, 

My cradle did rock. 
And hush-a-ba, baby, 

ba-lilly-loo, 
And hee and ba-birdie, 

My bonnie wee doo ! 

Hee-o, wee-o, what would I do wi' you ? &c. 

This touching little nursery-song or lullaby appeared in 
Johnson's Museum. 



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THE SILLER CROUN 



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And ye sail walk in silk at - tire, And 



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sil - ler ha'e to 



spare, 



Gin ye '11 con - sent to 



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his bride, Nor think o' 



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wha wad buy a silk - en 



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a puir brok - en heart ? Or what 's to me a 



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sil - ler croun, Gin frae my love I 

And ye sail walk in silk attire, 
And siller ha'e to spare, 

Gin ye '11 consent to be his bride, 
Nor think o' Donald mair. 



part? 



448 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Oh, wlia wad buy a silken goun, 

Wi' a puir broken heart ? 
Or what 's to me a siller croun, 

Gin frae my love I part 1 

The mind whase every wish is pure, 

Far dearer is to me ; 
And ere I 'm forced to break my faith, 

I '11 lay me doun and dee ; 
For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth, 

Brave Donald's fate to share, 
And he has gi'en to me his heart, 

Wi' a' its virtues rare. 

His gentle manners wan my heart, 

He gratefu' took the gift ; 
Could I but think to seek it back, 

It wad be waur than theft. 
For langest life can ne'er repay 

The love he bears to me ; 
And ere I 'm forced to break my troth, 

I '11 lay me doun and dee. 

This beautiful song, with its air, was printed in a sheet about 
1 780, and the name or names of author and composer have never 
come to the knowledge of the world. 



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MARY'S DREAM. 



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The moon had climbed the high - est hill, Which 



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ris - es o'er the source of Dee, And from the eastern 



MARY'S DREAM. 



449 



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summit shed Her 



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ver light on tower and tree: 



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When Mar - y laid her down to 



Her thoughts on Sandv 



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far at sea ; When soft and low a voice was heard, Say, 




Mar - y, weep no more for me. 

The moon had climbed the highest hill, 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tower and tree : 
When Mary laid her down to sleep, 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When soft and low a voice was heard, 

Say, Mary, weep no more for me. 

She from her pillow gently raised 

Her head to ask, who there might be ; 
She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, 

With visage pale and hollow eye. 
O Mary dear, cold is my clay, 

It lies beneath a stormy sea ; 
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death ; 

So, Mary, weep no more for me. 
2 c 



450 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



Three stormy nights and stormy days 

"We tossed upon the raging main ; 
And long we strove our bark to save, 

But all our striving was in vain. 
Ev'n then, when horror chilled my blood, 

My heart was filled with love for thee ; 
The storm is past, and I at rest ; 

So, Mary, weep no more for me. 

maiden dear, thyself prepare, 

We soon shall meet upon that shore 

Where love is free from doubt and care, 
And thou and I shall part no more. 



No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft the passing spirit said, 

Sweet Mary, weep no more for me ! 
This elegant ballad was the composition of a young man, named 
Alexander Low, of humble extraction in Galloway, but who 
obtained a learned education, and became tutor in the family of 
Mr M'Ghie of Airds, an amiable country gentleman, who had a 
number of beautiful daughters. While he resided at the Airds, 
about 1 77 1, the lover of one of the young ladies was lost at sea ; 
and upon this incident the ballad was composed. The young 
poet emigrated to America, where he kept an academy for some 
years, and died in 1 798, aged about forty-eight. 



LOGAN WATER. 



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By Lo - gan's streams that rin sae deep, Fu' 



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aft wi' glee I 've herd - ed sheep ; Herded sheep or 



LOGAN WATER 



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gath - er'd slaes, Wi' my dear lad, on Lo - gan braes: 



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But, wae 's my heart ! thae days are gane, And, 



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fu' o' grief, I herd my lane; While my dear lad maun 



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face his faes, Far, far frae me and Lo - gan braes ! 

By Logan's streams that rin sae deep, 
Fu' aft wi' glee I 've herded sheep ; 
Herded sheep or gather' d slaes, 
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes : 
But, wae's my heart ! thae days are gane, 
And, fu' o' grief, I herd my lane ; 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! 

Nae mair at Logan kirk will he, 
Atween the preachings, meet wi' me, 
Meet wi' me, or, when its mirk, 
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. 
I weel may sing — thae days are gane ! 
Frae kirk and fair I come alane, 
While my dear lad maun face his fae3, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! 

song, to the old tune of Logan Water, came before the 
about 1 783, being the composition of a young journeyman 



452 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



printer, named John Mayne, a native of Glasgow, who died at 
an advanced age in 1 836. The air, to which there was a song of 
old date and little refinement, is inserted in Mrs Crocket's 
manuscript Music-hook, 1709. 1 It was printed in the Orpheus 
Caledonius, with the verses by James Thomson, beginning ' For 
ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove.' Burns, having heard Mayne' s 
song, and being fond of the air, composed a song for the melody, 
in which he unconsciously borrowed one of Mayne's couplets, 
being the conclusion of the first stanza. It may be greatly 
doubted if the Ayrshire bard, on this occasion, excelled the 
Glasgow one. 



GAE TO THE KYE WI' ME, JOHNIE. 




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gae to the kye \vi' me, John - ie, 



ife£EE5E 



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O gae to the kye wi' me ; 






gae to the kye wi' me, John - ie, 



1 In the Boxburghe Collection of Broadside Ballads in the British 
Museum, there is one called The Bonny Scottish Lad and the Yielding 
Lass, to an excellent new tune, much in request, called The Liggan 
Waters. One of the verses may be given, as a specimen : 

Bonny lass, I love thee well, 

Bonny lad, I love thee better ; 
Wilt thou pull off thy hose and shoon, 

And wend with me to Liggan Water ? 



GAE TO THE KYE WF ME, JOHNIE. 



453 



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na she word 



three, And 



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kiss - es, That 
Chorus. 



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gaed 
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the 



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to the kye wi' me, John - ie, &c. 

gae to the kye wi' me, Johnie, 

gae to the kye wi' me ; 
gae to the kye wi' me, Johnie, 

And I '11 be merry wi' thee. 



And wasna she wordy o' kisses, 
And wasna she wordy o' three, 

And wasna she wordy o' kisses, 
That gaed to the kye wi' me ? 



454 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



I have a house a biggin, 

[And siller to mak it braw ; 
I have a lass to bring hame till % 

That pleases me best of a'. 

And if there be a wee bairnie, 

As I trow there may be, 
I have a canny auld mother, 

Will doudle 't upon her knee.] 

;s full original form, was one o 
chants of the people. It appeared first in Herd's Collection ; 
afterwards, with its lively air, in Johnson's Museum. Having a 
claim to a place in this work by the attractive character of the 
melody, it has been unavoidably subjected to some modification 
in the parts within brackets. 



WILL YE GO TO FLANDERS ? 



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Will ye go to Flanders, my Mai - ly ? 



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Will ye go to Flanders, my bon - nie Mai - ly ? There 



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we'll get wine and bran - dy, And sack and su - gar can - dy; 



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Will ye go to Flau-ders, my Mai - ly 0? 



AIR OF THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE. 455 

Will ye go to Flanders, my Mally ? 

Will ye go to Flanders, my bonnie Mally ? 

There we '11 get wine and brandy, 

And sack and sugar-candy ; 
Will ye go to Flanders, my Mally ? 



Will ye go to Flanders, my Mally ? 

And see the chief commanders, my Mally ? 

You '11 see the bullets fly, 

And the soldiers how they die, 
And the ladies loudly cry, rny Mally ? 

This song is from Herd's Collection, and the air from Ritson'; 
(!794). 



SUPPLEMENT. 



AIR OF THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE. 

[In connection with this song at page 313, it was stated that 
Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe published it with an air which 
had been composed for it by his father at a surprisingly early 
period of life. With some difficulty a copy of this rare sheet has 
been recovered. It bears the title of ' Absence : the words by 
Lady Grizell Baillie .... the air composed for the flageolet by 
the late Charles Sharpe of Hoddam, Esq., when seven years old : 
Edinburgh, 1838.' The beauty and suitableness of the air, apart 
from the singularity attending its composition, recommend it for 
being reprinted in this collection.] 



456 



SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 



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O, the ewe - bucht - in 's bon - nie, baith 



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EE 



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e'en - ing and morn, When our blithe shepherds play on the 



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bog-reed and horn ; While we 're milking, they're lilting, baith 



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pleas- ant and clear — But my heart's like to break when I 

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j, — p_ 

think on my dear. the shepherds take pleasure to 



-£¥■ U* — — v — /— ^J- — 



■¥ ¥■ 

blow on the horn, To raise up their flocks o' sheep 



fcd* 



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soon i' the morn ; On the bon - nie green banks they feed 
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pleas-ant and free, But, a - las, my dear heart, all my 



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sigh - ine's for thee! 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES OF THE SONGS. 



PAGE 

A cock -laird, fou cadgie, 156 

A lass that was laden'd with care, 388 

Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 358 

An thou wert my ain thing, O, 372 

And a' that e'er my Jenny had, 245 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 423 

And Charlie is my darling, . 94 

And ye sail walk in silk attire, 447 

As I cam by Loch Erroch side, 437 

As I came in by Fisherraw, 139 

As I went forth to view the spring, 294 

As walking forth to view the plain, 306 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears, 230 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 72 

Baloo, my boy, hie still and sleep, 265 

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 283 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 163 

Bonnie lass o' Gala "Water, 213 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go? 297,300 

Bonnie lass, I love thee well {note), ...... 452 

Braw, braw lads of Gala Water, 214 

Bask ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, ..... 353 

By Logan's streams that rin sae deep, 450 

By Pinkie House oft let me walk, 381 

By smooth winding Tay a swain was reclining, 302 



458 INDEX. 

PAGE 

Carle, an the king come, 51 

Cauld kail in Aberdeen, 145 

Claverse and his Highlandinen, 40 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 102 

Come gie 's a sang, Montgomery cried, 222 

Comin' through the Craigs o' Kyle, 440 

Cope sent a letter frae Dunbar, 86 

Declare, ye banks of Helicon, 254 

Donald Couper and his man, 125 

Doun in yon meadow a couple did tarry, 196 

Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, O, 370 

False love, and ha'e you played me this? 444 

Farewell to a' our Scottish fame, 45 

Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean, 333 

For lack of gold she has left me, O, 421 

Fy let us a' to the bridal, 147 

Get up, guidwife, don on your claise, 116 

Gin I had a wee house and a cantie wee fire, .... 419 

Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 233 

Green grow the rashes, O, 231 

Guid day, now, bonnie Robin, 240 

Happy the love which meets return, ........ 341 

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 343 

Hearken, and I will tell you how, 168 

Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 413 

Here 's to the king, sir, 80 

Hersel pe Highland shentleman, 216 

Hey, now the day dawis, 252 

How blithe, ilk morn, was I to see, ....... 360 

I bought my maiden and my wife, ....... 204 

I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, ...... 270 

I hae a wee lairdship down in the Merse, 122 

I hae laid a herring in saut, . . . . . . . . 123 

I hae laid three herrin' in saut, ....... 120 

I have house and land in Kent, ....... 122 

I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane, ........ 414 

I may sit in my wee croo house, 100 



INDEX. 459 

PAGE 

I met ayont the cairnie, . . . 398 

I wish I were where Helen lies, . . . . . . 257 

If my dear wife should chance to gang, 236 

I '11 gar our guidman trow, . . 229 

I '11 rowe thee o'er the lee-rig, 407 

I 'm young and stout, my Marion (note), 376 

In April, when primroses paint the sweet plain, .... 315 

In Scotland there lived a humble beggar, 179 

In the land of Fife there lived a wicked wife, 239 

In winter, when the ram rain'd cauld, ...... 113 

It fell about the Martinmas time, 190 

I 've corn and hay in the barn hard by, 121 

I 've heard the lilting at our yowe milking, 21 

I 've seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling, 24 

Joan, quoth John, when will this be ? 121 

Kenmure 's on and awa', "Willie, 58 

Late in an evening forth I went, 118 

Little wat ye wha 's coming, , 55 

Look where my dear Hamilla smiles, 351 

Love never more shall give me pain, 345 

March, march ! why the deil dinna ye march ? 33 

Mary 's black, and Mary 's white (note), 341 

Maxwelton banks are bonnie, 309 

May 't please your kind courtesie, . 161 

My daddie is a cankert carle, ' 400 

My dear and only love, I pray, 35 

My love built me a bonnie bower, 26 

My love he 's built a bonnie ship, and set her on the sea, . . 412 

My love he was as brave a man (old broadside), 31 

My love was born in Aberdeen, 84 

My mother 's aye glowrin ower me, 326 

My Peggie is a young thing, 317 

My sheep I neglected — I lost my sheep-hook, 385 

My sweetest sweet, and fairest fair, 258 

My wife 's a wanton wee thing, . . . . . . . 201 

Nancy 's to the greenwood gane, 153 



460 INDEX. 

- PAGE 

Now wat ye wha I met yestreen ? 324 

O, an ye were dead, guidman, 181 

O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 319 

O can ye sew cushions? 445 

O come awa', come awa', 127 

O gae to the kye wi' me, Johnie, 452 

O Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, 28 

O gin my love were yon red rose, ' 442 

O hearken and I will tell you how, .".... 168 

O, Logie o' Buchan, O, Logie, the laird, ...... 395 

O, merry may the maid be, * . 194 

O, our guidman cam hame at e'en, 184 

O rattlin' roarin' Willie, 136 

O saw ye my father, or saw ye my mother ? 286 

O send Lewie Gordon hame, 97 

O spring 's a pleasant time, 406 

O, the ewe buchtin's bonnie, baith e'ening and morn, . . 313, 455 

O, this is my departing time, 273 

O this is no my ain house, 75 

O waly, waly up the bank, 281 

O weel may the boatie row, 425 

O weel 's us a' on our guidman (note), 205 

O, were I able to rehearse, 225 

O ! whar got ye that auld crooked penny ? [note), .... 133 

O whare did ye get that haver-meal bannock ? 134 

O when she cam ben she bobbit fu' law, 238 

O will ye hae ta tartan plaid ? 129 

Oh, how could I venture to love one like thee? 417 

On Ettrick banks, in a summer's night, 335 

One day I heard Mary say, . . 347 

Out ower yon moss, out ower yon muir, 214 

Peace, wayward bairn, O cease thy moan, 269 

Poor Coridon did sometimes sit, ....... 366 

Qualis in terris fabulatur Orpheus, 152 

Rattlin' roarin' Willie, 138 

Return thee hameward, heart, again, 250 

Robin is my only jo, 410 

Robin's Jock cam to woo our Jenny, 109 



INDEX. 461 

PAGB 

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 434 

Saw ye Jenny Nettles? 397 

Saw ye Johnie comin' ? quo' she, . . . . . . . 368 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot ? 278 

Should old acquaintance be forgot ? 274 

Since all thy vows, false maid, 260 

Sweet sir, for your courtesie, 159 

Tarry woo, O, tariy woo, 383 

The auld man's mare 's dead, 141 

The auld Stuarts back again ! 53 

The bride cam out o' the byre, 206 

The Campbells are comin', Oho, Oho, 70 

The Chevalier, being void of fear, 89 

The grass had nae freedom o' growin', 208 

The lass o' Patie's Mill, 328 

The last time I cam o'er the muir, ....... 321 

The Lowland lads they think they 're fine, 331 

The moon had climbed the highest hill, 448 

The mucking o' Geordie's byre, 234 

The pawky auld carle cam ower the lea, 175 

The piper came to our town, 49 

The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad, 404 

The shepherd's wife cries o'er the lea, 402 

The smiling morn, the breathing spring, 376 

The thistle is the healing plant, 140 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 203 

The wren scho lyes in care's bed, 242 

The yellow-haired laddie sat on yon burn brae, .... 314 

There cam a young man to my daddie's door, .... 182 

There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow, ..... 219 

There was anes a may, and she loo'd na men, .... 311 

There 's auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, .... 211 

There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 145 

There 's some say that we wan, and some say that they wan, . . 60 

This Janet is a bonnie lass, 140 

Thou wilt not go and leave me here, ....... 269 

Through Liddersdale as lately I went, 364 

Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, 131 

To daunton me, to daurtton me, 74 



462 INDEX. 

PAGE 

To hae a wife and rule a wife, 199 

'Twas in that season of the year, 378 

'Twas on a Monday morning, 95 

'Twas on a summer afternoon, 439 

'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, 304 

Up and waur them a', Willie ! . 67 

Up wi' the souters o' Selkirk, 104 

Upon a fair morning, for soft recreation, 82 

Wha learned you to dance ? 244 

Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king ? 47 

Wha wadna be in love wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder '? . . . . 172 

"When I hae a saxpence under my thoom, 192 

When I think on this warld's pelf, 393 

When I was in my se'nteen year, " 391 

When Maggie and I were acquaint, 337 

When Phoebus bright the azure skies, 288 

When summer comes, the swains on Tweed, 362 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, . . 430 

When trees did bud, and fields were green, . . . . . 349 

When we went to the braes o' Marr, 68 

What beauties does Flora disclose, 339 

Where hae ye been sae braw, lad ?...... 43 

Will ye gang o'er the lee-rig ? 408 

Will ye go to Flanders, my Mally, O? 454 

Will ye go to the ewe-buchts, Marion ? 374 

Willie was a wanton wag, 165 

With broken words and downcast eyes, 329 

Young Jamie loo'd me weil, and socht me for his bride, . . 431 

You 're welcome, Charlie Stuart, ... v ... 98 

You 're welcome, Whigs, from Bothwell brigs, .... 38 



Edinburgh : 
Printed by W. and R. Chambers.