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Although my parents cannot raise
Great bags of shining gold,

Like them whose daughters, now a-days,
Like swine are bought and sold;
Yet my fair body it shall keep

An honest heart within;

And for twice fifty thousand crowns,
I value not a prin.

I use nae gums upon my hair,
Nor chains about my neck,
Nor shining rings upon my hands,
My fingers straight to deck;
But for that lad to me shall fa',
And I have grace to wed,
I'll keep a jewel worth them a',
I mean my maidenhead.

If canny fortune give to me
The man I dearly love,

Though we want gear, I dinna care,

My hands I can improve,
Expecting for a blessing still

Descending from above;

Then we'll embrace, and sweetly kiss,
Repeating tales of love.

[From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. Where it is marked as an old song. It is proper to state that the second and last line of every verse has a pendulous' O' to it, which hangs, says Mr. Cunningham, like a withered bough on a green tree.]

O WALY, WALY.

O waly waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trustie tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brake,
Sae my true love did lyghtlie me.

O waly waly but love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when its auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning-dew.
O wherefore shu'd I busk my head?
Or wherefore shu'd I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And

says he'll never lo'e me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,

The sheits shall neir be press'd by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,

Since my true love's forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum? 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 grown cauld to me.

Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad i' th' black velvet,
And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kisst,

That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.

Oh, oh! if my young babe were borne,
And set upon the nurse's knee,

And I mysell were dead and gone,

And the green grass growing over me.

[This is an old and very beautiful song; it relates it is said to a circumstance as affecting as the lines are sweet. I have preferred the reading of Mr. Chambers' copy in the last line, to the one printed in the Tea Table Miscellany-which is

For a maid again I'll never be.

Ramsay first published this song.]

THE BRISK YOUNG LAD.

There came a young man to my daddie's door,
My daddie's door, my daddie's door;
There came a young man to my daddie's door,
Came 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,
Came 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 gae him bread, and ale to drink,
But ne'er a blythe styme wad he blink,
Until his wame was fou.

Gae, get ye gone, ye cauldrife wooer,
Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer,
I straightway show'd 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 came the guidman, and high he shouted,
Out came the guidwife, and laigh she louted,
And a' the toun-neebours were gather'd about it,
But there lay he, I trow!

Then out came I, and sneer'd and smil'd,
Ye came to woo, but ye're a' beguil❜d,
Ye've fa'en i' the dirt, and ye're a befyl❜d.
We'll hae nae mair of you.

lad,

And wow! but he was a braw young
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad,
And wow! but he was a braw young lad,
Came seeking me to woo.

[First published by Herd in 1769.]

ANDRO AND HIS CUTTY GUN.

Blythe, blythe, blythe was she,
Blythe was she but and ben;
Weel she loo'd a Hawick gill,
And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, she set me down,
And hecht to keep me lawin'-free;
But, cunning carline that she was,
She gart me birle my bawbie.

We loo'd the liquor well eneugh;

But waes my heart my cash was done,
Before that I had quench'd my drouth,
And laith I was 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.

The carline brocht her-kebbuck ben,
Wi' girdle-cakes weel toasted brown,
Weel does the canny kimmer ken

They gar the scuds gae glibber down.
We ca'd the bicker aft about;

Till dawnin' we ne'er jee'd our bun,
And ay 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 ay his bonny thing,
And mony a sappy kiss I gat.

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