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But sen ye will Hussyskep ken,

First ye maun sift and syne sall kned; And ay as ze gang butt and ben,

Luke that the Bairns dryt not the Bed : And lay a saft Wysp to the Kiln,

We haif a dear Farm on our Heid;
And ay as ze gang forth and in,

Keip weil the Gaislings frae the Gled.
The wyfe was up richt late at Ene,

pray Luck give her ill to fair, Scho kirn’d the Kirn, and skumt it clene,

Left the Gudeman but bledoch bair: Then in the Morning up scho gat;

And on hir Heart laid hir Disjune, And pat as meikle in hir Lap,

As micht haif serd them baith at Nune, Says, Jok, be thou Maister of Wark,

And thou sall haud, and I sal ka, Ise promise thee a gude new Sark,

Either of round Claith or of sma. Scho lowst the Ousen aught or nync,

And hynt a Gad-staff in her Hand: 1 Up the Gudeman raise aftir syne,

And saw the Wyfe had done Command. He draif the Gaislings forth to feid,

Thair was but sevensum of them aw, And by thair comes the greidy Gled,

And lickt up five, left him but twa: Then out he ran in all his Mane,

How sune he hard the Gaislings cry; But than or he came in again,

The Kaves brak louse and suckt the Ky. The Kaves and Ky met in the Loan,

The Man ran with a Rung to red, Than by came an illwilly Roan,

And brodit his Buttoks till they bled:

Syne up he tuke a Rok of Tow,

And he sat down to sey the Spinning; He loutit doun owre neir the Low,

Quod he this Wark has ill Beginning. The Leam up thro the Lum did flow,

The Sute tuke Fyre it flyed him than, Sum Lumps did fa' and burn his Pow;

I wat he was a dirty Man; Zit he gat Water in a Pan,

Quherwith he slokened out the Fyre: To soup the House le syne began,

To haud all richt was his Desyre.
Hynd to the Kirn then did he stoure,

And jumblit at it till he swat,
Quhen he had rumblit a full lang Hour,

The Sorrow crap of Butter he gat;
Albeit nae Butter he could get,

Zit he was cummert with the Kirn, And syne

he het the Milk sae het, That ill a Spark of it wad zyrne. Then ben their cam a greidy Sow,

I trow he cund hir little Thank: For in scho shot hir meklo Mow, And

ау. scho winkit, and ay scho drank. He tuke the Kirnstaff be the Schank,

And chocht to reik the Sow a Rout, The twa left Gaislings gat a Clank,

That Straik dang baith thair Harns out. Then he bure Kendlin to the Kill,

But scho start all up in a Low, Quhat eir he heard what eir he saw,

He kendna now what next to do. Then he zied to take up the Bairns,

Thocht to have fund them fair and clene; The first that he gat in his Arms,

Was a bedirtin to the Ene.

The first it smellt sae sappylie,

To touch the lave he did not grein:
The Deil cut aff thair Hands, quoth he,

That cramd zour Kytes sae strute zestrein.
He traild the foul Sheits down the Gate,

Thợcht to haif wash'd them on a Stane,
The Burn was risen grit of Spait,

Away frae him the Sheits has tane.

up he gat on a Know-heid,
On hir to cry, on hir to schout;
Scho hard him, and scho hard him not,

But stoutly steird the Stots about.
Scho draif the Day unto the Nicht,

Scho lowst the Plewch, and syne camc hame;
Scho fand all wrang that sould bene richt,

I trow the Man thocht mekle Schame,
Quoth he, my Office I forsake,

For all the hale Days of my Lyfe;
For I wald put a House to Wraik,

Had I been twenty Days Gudewyfe.
Quoth scho, weil mot ze bruke your Place,

For truely I sall neir accept it;
Quoth he, Feynd fa the Lyars Face,

But zit ze may be blyth to get it.
Then up scho gat a mekle Rung;

And the Gudeman made to the Dore,
Quoth he, Dame, I sal hald my Tung,

For and we fecht I'll get the war:
Quoth he, when I forsuke my Plewch,
I trow I but forsuke


Then I will to my Plewch again;

For I and this House will nevir do weil.

This is one of the most exquisite comic Ballads, to be found in the lan. guage. It was first made known to the general reader by Allan Ramsay, who published it in his Ever-green from the Bannatyne Mss., where it is subscribed Moffat; but whither this be John Moffat, author of a pious piece, « Remember the End," printed in Hailes collection of ancient

poems, is altogether uncertain. Nor is any part of the biography of Mof. fat, nor even the exact time when he lived, more certainly known than his works, at least, if they be, the work containing the information has not fallen within the range of my reading. It has however been supposed that he was an ecclesiastic, and the supposition is not improbable, as the learning of that age (the 15th century) was almost wholly confined to that order, and the greater part of the early poets, whose works and characters have come down to us, either were ecclesiastics or at least candidates for the honours and emoluments of the order.


Cries, «

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A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,

Boatman, do not tarry !
“ And I'll give thee a silver pound,

“ To row us o'er the ferry.—”
“ Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

“ This dark and stormy water ?”
« Oh I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

“ And this Lord Ullin's daughter.-
« And fast before her father's men

“ Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,

' My blood would stain the heather.
“ His horsemen hard behind us ride;

“ Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride,

" When they have slain her lover ?”. Outspoke the hardy Highland wight

“I'll go, my chief-- I'm ready:“ It is not for your silver bright;

“ But for your winsome lady: “ And by my word! the bonny bird

“ In danger shall not tarry; “ So, though the waves are raging white,

“I'll row you o'er the ferry.--"

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Boatman, do not tarry!
And I give the a silver pound
To row us oer the ferry.

Publinlund er Khull Blackie & Co. Glasgow and A. Pullarton &00, Edin."

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