He took a wee horn frae his side,

And blew haith loud and shrill,
And four-and-twenty beltit knights,

Came skipping o'er the hill.

And he took out his little knife,

Loot a' his duddies fa'
And he was the brawest gentleman

That was amang them a’.
The beggar was a clever loon,

And he lap shouther height,
O ay for siccan quarters
As I gat yesternight.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving,

A roving in the night;
We'll gang nae mair a roving,

Let the moon shine e'er so bright.

[Mr. Allan Cuningham in his Edition of the Songs of Scotland has very happily added a variation in the chorus to this lively and ludi. crous exhibition of a royal intrigue.

2.
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Though maids be e'er so loving,

And the moon shine e'er so bright.

3.

And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Save when the moon is moving,

And the stars are shining bright.

4.

And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Nor sit a sweet maid loving,

By coal or candle light.

5.
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Although the moon is moving,

And stars are shining bright.

6. The same as the fourth.

And we'll ay gang a roving,

A roving in the night,
For then the maids are loving,

And stars are shining bright.
The scrupulous Ritson has allowed this song to be the production of
King James.]

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.

In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld,

And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld,

Was threat’ning a' our kye to kill ;
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo’es nae strife,

She said to me right hastily.
Get up, gudeman, save Crumie's life,

And tak your auld cloak about ye.

My Crumie is a usefu' cow,

And she is come of a gude kin';
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou',

And I am laith that she should tyne.
Get up, gudeman, it is fu’ time,

The sun shines in the lift sae hie;
Sloth never made a gracious end,

Gae tak your auld cloak about ye.

My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak,

When it was fitting for my wear ; But now it's scantly worth a groat,

For I hae worn't this thretty year. Let's spend the gear that we hae won,

We little ken the day we'll die; Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn

To hae a new cloak about me.

In days when our King Robert rang,

His trews they cost but half-a-croun; He said they were a groat o'er dear,

And ca'd the tailor thief and loun. He was the king that wore the crown,

And thou a man of low degree; It's pride puts a' the country down,

Sae tak your auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its ain law,

Ilk kind of corn has its ain hool; I think the warld is a' run wrang,

When ilka wife her man wad rule. Do ye not see Rob, Jock, and Hab,

As they are girded gallantly, While I sit hurklin' in the ase?

I'll hae a new cloak about me. Gudeman, I wat it's thretty years

Since we did ane anither ken; And we hae had, between us twa,

O'lads and bonnie lasses, ten. Now they are women grown and men,

I wish and pray weel may they be; And if you prove a good husband,

E’en tak your auld cloak about ye.

Bell, my wife, she lo’es na strife,

But she wad guide me if she can ;
And, to maintain an easy life,

I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman.
Nought's to be won at woman's han',

Unless ye gie her a' the plea;
Then I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak

my

auld cloak about me.

[This very old ballad is claimed by both England and Scotlandit is now beginning to be generally admitted that the English version printed by Percy from his old folio, is not the original. The present copy preserved by Ramsay, is far superior in merit. The reader will recollect Iago's singing :

King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,

With that he called the tailor-lown.
He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree,
Tis pride that pulls the country down,

Then take thy auld cloak about thee,]

TODLIN HAME.

When I hae a saxpence under my thumb,
Then I'll get credit in ilka town:
But
ay

when I'm poor they bid me gae by;
0! poverty parts good company.

Todlin hame, todlin hame,
Coudna

my

love come todlin hame?

Fair fa’ the goodwife, and send her good sale,
She gi’es us white bannocks to drink wi' her ale,
Syne if her tippeny chance be sma',
We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca’ it awa'.

Todlin hame, todlin hame,
As round as a neep come todlin hame.

My kimmer and I lay doun to sleep,
And twa pintstoups at our bed-feet ;
And ay when we waken’d, we drank them dry:
What think ye of wee kimmer and I?

Todlin but, and todlin ben,
Sae round as my love comes todlin hame.

Leeze me on liquor, my todlin dow,
Ye’re ay sae good humour'd when weeting your mou’;
When sober sae sour, ye'll fecht wi' a flee,
That 'tis a blyth sight to the bairns and me,

When todlin hame, todlin hame,
When round as a neep ye come todlin hame

“ This is perhaps the

[From Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. best bottle song ever composed.”-BURNS.]

THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION

Will ye gae to the ewe-bughts, Marion,

And wear in the sheep wi' ine?
The sun shines sweet, my Marion ;

But nae half sae sweet as thee.