I've a hen wi' a happity leg;

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tak me now;
Which ilka day lays me an egg,

And I canna come ilka day to woo.
I ha'e a kebbuck upon the shelf;
Lafs, gin ye lo'e me, tak me now;
I downa eat it a' myself,

And I winna come ony mair to woo.

SONG 239.

Now's the time for mirth and glee,

Laugh and love and fing with me ;Cupid is my theme of story,

'Tis his godfhip's fame and glory;
Ever bending to his law, ha! ha!--ha!

O'er the grave and o'er the gay,
Cupid takes his share of play:
He makes heroes quit their glory;
He's the god moft fam'd in ftory:

Bending then unto his law, ha! haha!

Sly the urchin deals in darts,
Without pity piercing hearts:
Cupid triumphs over paffions,
Not regarding modes or fashions.

Firmly fix'd is Cupid's law, ha! haha!

You may doubt these things are true ;
But they're facts, 'twixt me and you.
Then, young men and maids be wary,
How ye meet before you marry ;

Cupid's will is folely law, ha! ha!-ha!

SONG 240.

WARS ALARM S.

SINCE war's alarms entic'd my Willy from me,
My poor heart with grief doth figh;
Each fond remembrance heaps fresh sorrow on me,
I awake ere yet the morning is nigh.
No other cou'd delight him;

Ah, why did I ere flight him,

Coldly anfwering his fond tale,

Which drove him forth amidst the rage of wars,
And left filly me thus to bewail!

But I no longer, tho' a maid for faken,
Thus will moan, like yonder dove;
For e'er the lark to-morrow shall awaken,
I will feek my abfent love;

The hoftile country over,
I'll fly to feek my lover,
Scorning ev'ry threat'ning fear;
Nor diftant fhore, nor canons roar,

Shall longer keep me from my dear.

SONG 241.

OH! fend me Lewis Gordon hame,

And the lad I dare not name.;
Altho' his back be at the wa',
Here's to him that's far awa.

Hech hey! my Highland-man,

My handsome charming Highland-man,
Weel wou'd I my true love ken,
Among ten thousand Highland-men.

Oh! to fee his tartan-trews,
Bonnet blue, and high-heel'd fhoes,
Philabeg aboon his knee,

And that's the Lad that I'll go

wi'

This Lovely Lad I now do fing,
Is fitted for to be a King:
For on his breaft he wears a ftar,
You'd take him for the god of war.

Oh to fee this Princely One,

Seated on a royal throne;

Our griefs wou'd then a' disappear,
We'd celebrate the Jub'lee-year.

Hech hey! &c.

Hech hey! &c.

Hech hey! &c.

SONG 242.

THRO' THE WOOD, LADDIE.

SANDY, why leaves thou thy Nelly to mourn!
Thy prefence cou'd ease me,
When naething can please me :

Thy prefence cou'd ease me, &c.

Now dowie I figh on the banks of the burn,
Or thro' the wood, laddie, until thou return.
Thro' the wood, laddie, thro' the wood laddie.
Thro' the wood, thro' the wood,

Thro' the wood, laddie;

Now dowie 1 figh, &c.

Tho' woods now are bonny, and, mornings are clear, While lav'rocks are finging,

And primroses springing;

Yet nane of them pleases my eye or my ear,
When thro' the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear.

Thro' the wood, &c.

That I am forfaken, fome spare not tell :
I'm fash'd wi' their scorning,

Baith ev'ning and morning :

Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wi' a knell,
When thro' the wood, laddie, I wander mysel'.

Thro' the wood, &c.

Then ftay, my dear Sandy, nae langer away,:

But quick as an arrow,

Hafte here to thy marrow,

Wha's living in languor till that happy day, When thro' the wood, laddie, we'll dance, fing,

and play.

Thro' the wood, &c.

SONG 243.

THRO' THE WOOD, LASSIE.

NELLY! no longer thy Sandy now mourn,
Let mufic and pleasure

Abound, without measure,

Let mufic and pleasure, &c.

O'er hillocks, or mountains, or low in the burn, Or, thro' the wood, laffie, until thou return, Thro' the wood, laffie, thro' the wood, laffie, Thro' the wood, thro' the wood,

Thro the wood, lafie ;

O'er hillocks, or mountains, &c.

Since I have been abfent from thee, my dear Nell, No content, no delight,

Have I known day or night,

The murmuring ftream, and the hill's echo, tell, How thro' the wood, laffie, I breath'd my fad knell. Thro' the wood, &c.