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Thoch that this warld be verie strange;
And theves hes done my rowmis range,
And teynd my fald:

Yet wald I leif, and byde ane change;
Thoch I be ald.

Now me to spulyie sum not spairis;
To tak my geir no captane cairis;:
Thai ar sa bald.

Yit tyme may cum, may mend my sairis;
Thoch I be ald.

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aye ur

WR Davidson Soup'

"pleasure;

Will wrought sair, but
Scan the hale day span and sang;

Will and Weans her constant treasure.

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day seemd

seemd lang.

Published by Khull, Blackie & Co. Glasgow, and A.Fullerton & Co, Edinburgh.

Quhan young men cumis fra the grene,
(Playand at the fute-ball had bene)
With brokin spald;

I thank my God, I want my ene;
And am sa ald.

Thoch I be sweir to ryd or gang;
Thair is sumthing, I've wantit lang,
Fane have I wald-

Thame punysit that did me wrang;
Thoch I be ald.

SCOTLAND'S SKAITH; OR THE HISTORY OF WILL AND JEAN.

PART FIRST.

WHA was ance like Willie Gairlace,
Wha in neighbouring town or farm?
Beauty's bloom shone in his fair face,
Deadly strength was in his arm!

Wha wi' Will could rin or wrastle?
Throw the sledge, or toss the bar?
Hap what would, he stood a castle,
Ör for safety, or for war:

Warm his heart, and mild as manfu',
With the bauld he bauld could be;
But to friends wha had their handfu',
Purse and service aye ware free.

Whan he first saw Jeanie Miller,
Wha wi' Jeanie could compare?-
Thousands had mair braws and siller,
But were ony half sae fair?

Saft her smile raise like May morning,
Glinting o'er Demait's brow:
Sweet! wi' opening charms adorning
Strevlin's lovely plains below!

Kind and gentle was her nature;
At ilk place she bore the bell ;-
Sic a bloom, and shape, and stature!
But her look nae tongue can tell!

Such was Jean, whan Will first mawing,
Spied her on a thraward beast;
Flew like fire, and just when fa'ing
Kept her on his manly breast.

Light he bore her, pale as ashes,

Cross the meadow, fragrant, green!
Placed her on the new-mawn rashes,
Watching sad her opening een.

Such was Will, whan poor Jean fainting
Drapt into a lover's arms;
Wakened to his saft lamenting;

Sighed, and blushed a thousand charms.

Soon they loo'd, and soon were buckled;
Nane took time to think and rue.-
Youth and worth and beauty cuppled;
Love had never less to do.

Three short years flew by fu' canty,

Jean and Will thought them but ane;
Ilka day brought joy and plenty,

Ilka year a dainty wean.

Will wrought sair, but aye wi' pleasure;
Jean, the hale day, spun and sang;
Will and weans, her constant treasure,

Blest with them, nae day seemed lang;

One of the Ochil hills, near Stirling. Dum-ma-chit, (Gaelic), the hill of the good prospect. It is pronounced Demyit.

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