And wylily they fhot the lock,
And faft to the bent are they gane,
Upon the morn the auld wife raife,
And at her leisure put on her claise;
Syne to the fervants bed the gaes,
To fpear for the filly poor man.

She gade to the bed where the beggar lay,
The ftrae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cry'd, waladay,
For fome our gear will be gane,
Some ran to coffers, and some to kists,
Bus nought was town that could be mist;
She danc'd her lane, cry'd, Praise be bleft,
I have lodg'd a leal poor man.

Since naithing's awa', as we can learn,
The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn,

Gae but the house, lafs, and waken my bairn,.
And bid her come quickly ben.

The fervant gaed where the daughter lay,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And faft to her goodwife did fay,

She's aff with the gaberlunzie-man.

O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,

And hafte you find these traitors again;
For fhe's be burnt, and he's be flain:
The wearifu' gaberlunzie-man.
Some rade upo' horfe, fome ran a fit,
The wife was wood and out of her wit,
She cou'd nae gang, nor yet cou'd she fit;
But ay fhe curs'd and fhe ban'd..

Mean time, far hind out o'er the lee,
Fu' fnug in a glen, where nane cou'd fee,
The twa, with kindly fport and glee,
• Cut frae a new cheele a whang.

The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith,,
To lo'e her for ay he gae her his aith;
Quo' fhe, to leave thee I will be laith,

My winfome gaberlunzie man.
O kend my minny I were wi' you,
Ill-fardly wad fhe crook her mou,

Sic a poor man fhe'd never trow,
After the gaberlunzie man.

My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young,
And hae nae learn'd the beggar's tongue,
To follow me from town to town,
And carry the gaberlunzie on.

Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need:
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,

To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout o'er my eye,
And cripple or, blind they will ca' me,
While we shall be merry and fing.

T

XXXIII.

O markets and fairs I do repair,
As other maidens do,

To fee what young men will be there,
My perfon for to view;

But all in vain, I turn again,

Since none can fancy me.

Then what fhall I do, fhall I die a maid,

And never married be!

My fifter Peg, by her confent,

Was made a wedded wife,
And with her husband fhe doth live
A quiet and happy life.
But I, poor girl, must ly alone,
Though twice as fair as the,
O what shall I do, &c.

I wear no napkins round my neck,
My bubbies for to hide,

I comb my hair, and look fo fmart,
Each day that I do ride.
My petticoats they are so short,
Young men my white legs fee.
What fhall I do, &c.

I hearing this fair maid's complaint,
As in a bufh I lay,

I hearken'd to her pleafant fong,
And to her thus did fay;

Thy beauty bright has pleas'd my fight,
Both heart and mind agree,

It fhall ne'er be faid you dy'd a maid,
If you can fancy me.

XXXIV. Tak your auld Cloak about ye

N winter when the rain rain'd cauld,
And frost and fnaw on ilka hill,

IN

And Boreas, with his blafts fae bald,
Was threatning a' our ky to kill;
Then Bell my wife, wha lo'es na ftrife,
Said unto me right hastily,

Get up, goodman, fave Crommy's life,
And tak your auld cloak about ye.
My Crommie is a good milk cow,
And fhe is come of a good kine :
Aft has the wat the bairns's mou,
And I am laith that she should tyne :
Get up, goodman, it is fou time,
The fun fhines in the lift fou hie,
Sloth never made a gracious' end,
Gae tak your auld cloak about ye.
My cloak was anes a good gray cloak,
When it was fitting for my wear;
But now 'tis fcantly worth a groat,
For I have worn't this mony a year,
Let's fpend the gear that we hae won,
We little ken the day we'll die;
Then I'll be proud, fince I hae sworn,
To hae a new cloak about me..

In days when good King ROBERT rang,
His trews they coft but haf a crown,
He swore they were a groat o'er dear,
And ca'd the taylor thief and lown.
He was the king that wore the crown,
And thou a man of laigh degree.
'Tis pride puts a' our kintry down,
Sae tak your auld cloak about ye.

Every

Every land hath its ain laigh,
Ilk kind of corn it has its hool;
I think the warld's a gane daft,

When ilka wife her man wad rule.
Do ye not fee Rob, Jock, and Hab,
As they are girded gallantly,
While I fit hurklen in the ase;
I'll hae a new cloak about me.

Goodman, I wat 'tis therty year,
Sen we did ane anither ken,
And we have had between us twa,
Of lads and bonny laffes ten:
Now they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray well may they be,
And if you prove a good husband,

E'en tak your auld cloak about ye.
Bell, my wife, fhe lo'es na ftrife,
Yet the would guide me, if the can,
And to maintain an easy life,

I oft maun yield, though I'm goodman.
Nought's to be won at women's hand,
Unless me gie them a' the plea,
Sine I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak my auld cloak about me.

XXXV. Hup me with thy Petticoat.

Bell, thy looks have kill'd my heart!
I pass the day in pain ;

When night returns, I feel the smart,
And with for thee in vain.

I'm starving cold, whilft thou art warm

Have pity and incline,

And grant me for a hap that charm

ing petticoat of thine.

My ravish'd fancy, in amaze,

Still wanders o'er thy charms;

Delufive dreams, ten thousand ways,

Prefent thee to my arms.

Then waking think what I endure,

While cruel you decline

Thofe

Those pleasures, which can only cure
This panting breast of mine.

I faint, I fail, I wildly rove,
Because you ftill deny

The just reward that's due to love,
And let true paffion die..

Oh! turn, and let compaffion feize
That lovely breast of thine:
Thy petticoat would give me eafe,
If thou and it were mine.

Sure heav'n has fitted for delight
That beauteous form of thine,
And thou'rt too good its laws to flight,
By hind'ring the defign.
May all the pow'rs of love agree,
At length to make thee mine;
Or loose my chains, and fet me free
From ev'ry charm of thine.

XXXVI.

Lyth Colin's bleft art

Has bewitch'd my young heart,

And trust me there's place for no other. Should he once ceafe to woo,

What must poor Molly do?

For there's not in the world fuch another.
There's not in the world such another,

No lad on the plain

Sure can pipe like my fwain;

So fweetly can carol no other.

How oft in the vale

Have I heard his foft tale?

And by moon-light he'll tell me another,
And by moon-light, &c.

Wit, beauty and truth

All bedeck the dear youth,

And perfuade me my love not to fmother,

He has riches in store,

Yet he courts me, though poor;

Nay, he fwears that he dotes on no other,
Nay he fwears, &c.

Should