What's this now, gudewife,

What's this I see?
O how came this sword here

Without the leave o' me?
A sword ! quo' she,-aye, a sword! quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,

And blinder may ye see,
It's but a porridge spurtle

My mither sent to me. A spurtle! quo' he,-aye, a spurtle! quo' she. Far hae I ridden, love,

And meikle hae I seen, But silver hilted spurtles

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman came hame at e’en,

And hame came he,
And there he spied a powdered wig

Where nae wig should be:
What's this now, gudewife,

What's this I see?
How came this wig here

Without the leave o' me?
A wig quo' she,-aye, a wig! quo' he.
Shame fa' yere cuckold face,

And waur may ye see,
'Tis naething but a clocking-hen

My mither sent to me.
A clocking-hen! quo' he,-aye, a clocking-hen!

quo' she.
Far hae I ridden,

And meikle hae I seen;
But powder on a clocking-hen

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman came hame at e’en,

And hame came he,
And there he saw a meikle coat

Where nae coat should be:
And how came this coat here,

How can this be?
O how came this coat here

Without the leave o me?
A coat! quo' she,--aye, a coat! quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard bodie,

And blinder may ye be ;
It's but a pair o'blankets

My mither sent to me.
Blankets! quo' he,--aye, blankets ! quo' she.
Far hae I ridden,

And meikle hae I seen;
But buttons upon blankets

Saw I never nane.

Ben gaed our gudeman,

And ben gaed he:
And there he spied a sturdy man

Where nae man should be.
How came this man here?

How can this be?
How came this man here

Without the leave o' me?
A man! quo' she,-aye, a man! quo' he.
Ye silly blind bodie,

And blinder may ye be;
It's but a new milkin maid

My mither sent to me.
A maid ! quo' he,-aye, a maid ! quo' she.

Far hae I ridden, love,

And meikle hae I seen; But long-bearded maidens

Saw I never nane.

(From Herd's Collection, 1776.]

HOW CAN I BE BLITHE.

How can I be blithe and glad,

Or in my mind contented be,
When the bonnie lad whom I love best

Is banish'd frae my companie ?
Though he be banished for my sake,

His true-love shall I still remain; O that I was, and I wish I was,

With thee, my own true love again!

I dare but wish for thee, my love,

My thoughts I may not, dare not speak; My maidens wonder why I sigh,

And why the bloom dies on my cheek. If thoughts of thee be sin in me,

0, deep am I in shame and sin ; O that I was, and I wish I was,

In the chamber where my love's in!

DUMBARTON'S DRUMS.

Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie-o,
For they mind me of my dear Johnie-o.

How happy am I,

When my soldier is by,
While he kisses and blesses his Annie-o!

'Tis a soldier alone can delight me-o, For his graceful looks do invite me-o:

While guarded in his arms,

I'll fear no war's alarms, Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me-o. My love is a handsome laddie-o, Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudie-o :

Though commissions are dear,

Yet I'll buy him one this year ; For he shall serve no longer a cadie-o. A soldier has honour and bravery-o, Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery-o;

He minds no other thing

But the ladies or his king ;
For every other care is but slavery-o.
Then I'll be the captain's lady-o;
Farewell all my friends and my daddy-o;

I'll wait no more at home,

But I'll follow with the drum, And whene'er that beats, I'll be ready-o.

VOL. 11.

G

Dumbarton's drums sound bonnie-o,
They are sprightly like my dear Johnie-o :

How happy shall I be

When on my soldier's knee,
And he kisses and blesses his Annie-o!

[From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.]

JOHN HAY'S BONNY LASSIE.

By smooth winding Tay a swain was reclining,
Aft cry'd he, Oh hey! maun I still live pining
Mysel thus away, and daurna discover
To my bonny Hay that I am her lover!

Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes stranger;
If she's not my bride, my days are nae langer :
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture,
Maybe, ere we part, my vows may content her.

She's fresh as the Spring, and sweet as Aurora,
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good-morrow;
The swaird of the mead, enamell’d wi' daisies,
Looks wither'd and dead when twinn'd of her graces.

But if she appear where verdure invites her,
The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the sweeter ;
'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flowing,
Her smiles and bright eye set my spirits a-glowing.