My Sunday's coat fhe has laid it a wad, My bonny white mittens I wore on my hands, I never was for wrangling nor ftrife, O! gin, &c. Nor did I deny her the comforts of life, O! gin, &c. When there's ony money, fhe maun keep the purfe; A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow, Q! gin, &c. When she comes to the street, fhe roars and she rants, Has no fear of her neighbours, nor minds the house wants; She rants up fome fool fang, like, Up your heart, CHARLIE O! gin, &c. When she comes hame, the lays on the lads, O! gin, &c. ་་་་་་་་་་ SONG 154. WILLIE'S drown'd in YARROW. WILLIE's rare, and Willie's fair, And Willie's wondrous bony, And Willie hecht to marry me, Gin e'er he married ony. Yeftreen I made my bed fu' braid, O came you by yon water-fide? Or came you by yon meadow-green ? She fought him eaft, fhe fought him welt, Syne in the cleaving of a craig She found him drown'd in Yarrow. SONG 155. YOUNG Strephon, I own, is the joy of my heart; I love the dear youth, he's fo lively and smart; His converfe is pleafing, he's manly and gay, And his breath is as fweet as the flowers in May. When he fings his love trains, all the fwains in a throng, In raptures are feen with my fhepherd's foft fong, While the nymphs all around me with envy furvey, Becaufe Strephon hails me the Queen of the May. But love without jealoufy reigns on my part, For, as well as the May, I'm the queen of his heart; Such joy and delight does his conftancy bring, Without envy I'd look on the ftate of a king. T'other day for my head he a chaplet entwin'd, Of roses and myrtles, and jonquills combin'd; gave him a kifs for the favour, 'tis true, And how could I help it-I only ask you? I You'll fay I was forward, and greatly to blame, What girl for fuch favour would not do the fame ? For t'will not be long before Strephon and I, Shall join hands and hearts in one facred tie. Then, fure, when the church has performed its rites, And we firmly fixed in Hymen's delights, For his faith and his troth, to bind all our bliss, You'll furely allow-'tis my duty to kiss. SONG 156. Sung at RANELAGH. As Colin rang'd early one morning in fpring, S To hear the wood's choristers warble and fing; Of all my experience how vaft the amount, Ye heroes, triumphant by land and by fea, Ye counsellors fage, who, with eloquent tongue, That a comely young girl ought to die an old maid? Ye learned phyficians, whofe excellent skill To a poor forlorn damfel contribute your aid, Ye ops, I invoke not to lift to my fong, T 9anfwer no end, and to no fex belong ; Young Colin was melted to hear her complain, SONG 157. The Rock and wee Pickle Tow. THERE HERE was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow, And he wad gae try the fpinning o't, But louten her down, her rock took a low, She lap and the grat, fhe flet and she flang, |