My wife fits at the fire-fide;

And the tear blinds ay her ee;

The ne'er a bed will she gae to,
But fit and tak the gee.

In the morning foon, when I came down, The ne'er ae word the fpake;

But mony a fad and four look,

And ay her head fhe'd shake.

My dear, quoth I, what aileth thee,
To look fae four on me?

I'll ne'er do the like again,

If ye'll ne'er tak' the gee.

When that she heard, fhe ran, fhe flang
Her arms about my neck,
And twenty kiffes, in a crack,
And, poor wee thing, fhe grat.
If ye'll ne'er do the like again,
But bide at hame wi' me,
I'll lay my life I'fe be the wife
That's never tak' the gee.

BLYTH

SONG 208.

THE GAWKIE.

young Befs to Jean did say,

Will ye gang to yon funny brae,

Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray,

And sport a while wi' Jamie?

Ah na, lass, I'll no gang there,

Nor about Jamie tak nae care,
Nor about Jamie tak nae care;
For he's ta'en up wi' Maggie.

For hark, and I will tell you, lass,
Did I not fee your Jamie pafs,
Wi' muckle gladness in his face,
Out o'er the muir to Maggie.

I wat he gae her mony

kifs,

And Maggie took them ne'er amifs ;
'Tween ilka fmack pleas'd her wi' this,
That Befs was but a gawkie.

For when'er a civil kifs I feek,

She turns her head, and thraws her cheek,
And for an hour fhe'll fcarcely fpeak;
Who'd not ca' her a gawkie?
But fure my Maggie has mair fenfe,
She'll gie a score without offence:
Now gi'e me ane into the menfe,
And ye fhall be my dawtie.

O Jamie, ye hae mony tane,
But I will never ftand for ane
Or twa, when we do meet again,

Sae ne'er think me a gawkie.

Ah na, lafs, that can ne er be,
Sic thoughts as these are far frae me,
Or ony thy fweet face that fee,

E'er to think thee a gawkie.

But, whish't, nae mair of this we'll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet ;
Inftead of Meg he kifs'd fae fweet,
I trow he likes the gawkie.

O dear Befs, I hardly knew,

When I came by, your gown's fae new,
I think you've got it wat wi' dew,
Quoth fhe, that's like a gawkie.

It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when it is gane,
Sae you may gang the gate you came,
And tell it to your dawtie.
The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek,
He cry'd, O cruel maid, but fweet,
If I fhould gang another gate,
I ne'er could meet my dawtie.

The laffes faft frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie fair to rue,
That ever Maggie's face he knew,
Or yet ca'd Befs a gawkie.

As they gade o'er the muir they fang,
The hills and dales with echo's rang,
The hills and dales with echo's rang,
Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.

SONG 209.

THE MILLER OF DEE.

THERE was a jolly miller once

Liv'd on the water of Dee;

He wrought and fung frae morn to night,
No lark more blyth than he

And this the burden of his song
For ever us'd to be,

"I care for no body, no not I,
"Since no body cares for me."

I live by my mill, God bless her,
She's kindred, child and wife;
I would not change my station,
For any other in life.
No lawyer, furgeon or doctor,
E'er had a groat from me;
I care for no body, no not I,
If no body cares for me.

When fpring begins his

merry career,

O how his heart grows gay;

No fummer's drought alarms his fears,
Nor winter's fad decay:

No forefight mar's the miller's joy,
Who's wont to fing and fay,

Let others toil from year to year,

I live from day to day.

Thus like the miller, bold and free,
Let us rejoice and fing,

The days of youth are made for glee,
And time is on the wing.

This fong fhall pafs from me to thee

Along this jovial ring;

Let heart and voice and all agree
To fay, Long live the King.

BRAES OF YARROW.

THE fun, juft glancing thro' the trees, Gave light and joy to ilka grove; And pleasure, in each fouthern breeze, Awaken'd hope, and flum bering love. When Jeanie fung with hearty glee,

To charm her winfome Marrow, My bonny laddie, gang wi' me, My bonny, &c.

We'll o'er the braes of Yarrow.

My bonny laddie gang wi' me,
We'll d'er, &c.

Young Sandie was the blytheft lad,
That ever pip'd on broomy brae ;
Nae lafs could fee him free frae pain,

So youthful, brifk, fo blyth and gay.