My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blithe and bauld,
And naething gi'es me sic delight,
As wauking of the fauld.

My Peggy sings sae saftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the rest it is confest,
By a' the rest, that she sings best.
My Peggy sings sae saftly,

And in her sangs are tauld, With innocence, the wale of sense, At wauking of the fauld.

TO A FLY

WILLIAM OLDYS

USY, curious, thirsty Fly,

BUS

Drink with me, and drink as I!

Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip, and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may !
Life is short and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine,
Hast'ning quick to this decline:-
Thine's a summer: mine's no more,
Though repeated to three-score:-
Three-score summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one.

NIGHTINGALE

JAMES THOMSON

FT, when returning with her loaded bill,
Th' astonished mother finds a vacant nest,

By the hard hand of unrelenting clown
Robb'd; to the ground the vain provision falls;
Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce
Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade,
Where, all abandoned to despair, she sings
Her sorrows thro' the night; and on the bough
Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall

Takes up again her lamentable strain

Of winding woe, till wide around the woods
Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound.

AND

THE SAILOR'S WIFE

JEAN ADAMS

ND are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think of wark?

Ye jauds, fling by your wheel.
Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Gi'e me my cloak! I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.

For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

Rise up and mak' a clean fireside;
Put on the muckle pot;

Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.

There's twa fat hens upon the bauk,

Been fed this month and mair;

Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;

And mak' the table neat and clean,

Gar ilka thing look braw; It's a' for love of my gudeman, For he's been long awa'.

O gi'e me down my bigonet,
My bishop satin gown,

For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.

My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on,
My hose o' pearl blue;

'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech,

His breath's like caller air!
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth, I'm like to greet.

Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content,
I hae nae more to crave;
Could I but live to mak' him blest,
I'm blest above the lave.

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, -
In troth, I'm like to greet.