Ane pig, ane pot, ane raip thair ben,
Ane fork, ane flaik, ane reill, ane rok,
Dischis and dublaris nyne or ten:
Come ye to wow our Jynny, Jok?

Ane blanket, and ane wecht also,
Ane schule, ane scheit, and ane lang flail,
Ane ark, ane almry, and laidillis two,
Ane milk-syth, with ane swyne taill
Ane rowsty quhittil to scheir the kaill,
Ane quheill, ane mell the beir to knok,
Ane coig, ane caird wantand ane naill :
Come ye to wow our Jynny, Jok?'

Ane furme, ane furlet, ane pott, ane pek,
Ane tub, ane barrow, with ane quheilband,
Ane turs, ane troch, and ane meil-sek,
Ane spurtill braid, and ane elwand.
Jok tuk Jynny be the hand,

And cryd, Ane feist; and slew ane cok,
And maid a brydell vp alland;

Now haif I gottin your Jynny, quoth Jok.

Now, deme, I haif your bairne mareit ;
Suppoís ye mak it never sa twche,
I lat yow wit schos nocht miskareit,
It is weill kend I haif annwch :

Ane crukit gleyd fell our ane huch,
Ane spaid, ane speit, ane spur, ane sok,
Without oxin I haif a pluche
To gang to gidder Jynny and Jok.

I haif ane helter, ane eik, ane hek,

Ane coird, ane creill, and als ane cradill,

Fyve fidder of raggis to stuff ane jak,

Ane auld pannell of ane laid sadill,

Ane pepper-polk maid of a padill,

Ane spounge, ane spindill wantand ane nok, Twa lusty lippis to lik ane laiddill,

To gang to gidder Jynny and Jok.

Ane brechame, and twa brochis fyne
Weill buklit with a brydill renye,
Ane sark maid of the linkome twyne,
Ane gay grene cloke that will nocht stenye

And yit for mister I will nocht fenye,
Fyive hundreth fleis now in a flok.
Call ye nocht that ane joly menye,

To go to 'giddir Jynny, and Jok?'

Ane trene truncheour, ane ramehorn spone,
Twa buttis of barkit blasnit ledder,

All graith that ganis to hobbill schone,
Ane thrawcruk to twyne ane tedder,

Ane brydill, ane girth, and ane swyne bledder,
Ane maskene-fatt, ane fetterit lok,

Ane scheip weill keipit fra ill wedder,
To'gang to giddir, Jynny and Jok.'

Tak thair for my parte of the feist;
It is weill knawin I am weill bodin;
Ye may nocht say my parte is leist.
The wyfe said, Speid, the kaill are soddin,
And als the laverok is fust and loddin;
Quhen ye haif done tak hame the brok.
The rost wes twche, sa wer thay bodin;

Syne gaid to gidder bayth, Jynny and Jok.*

The wowing of Jok and Jynny'-Lord Hailes observes, has by frequent publications, been much corrupted. Every publisher took the liberty of adding or altering just as his fancy led him.'t I have followed Mr. Laing's very accurate copy in the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland [4to. 1822]. In this singular ballad the reader will perceive much similarity of style to the song printed in the former

* "When these good old bards wrote, we had not yet made Use of imported Trimming upon our Cloaths, nor of foreign Embroidery in our Writings. Their Poetry is the product of their own country, not pilfered and spoiled in the Transportation from abroad. Their images are native, and their Landscapes domestic, copied from those fields and meadows we every day behold." Preface to the Evergreen.— ALLAN RAMSAY.

† Ancient Scots Poems, p. 292.

volume, [p. 63], called Phillida flouts me,' and the absurd stall-copy rhymes of Arthur O'Bradley.'*

To advance the Reformation in Scotland, many parts of the popular songs were mingled with obscene verses, and sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite hymns in the Latin service. In 1590, and again in 1621, a curious volume of these divine songs in ridicule of Romish priests, was published in Edinburgh, bearing the following title, 'Ane compendious Booke of Godly and Spiritual Sangs, collectit out of sundrie parts of the Scripture, with sundrie of other Ballats, changed out of profaine Sanges, for avoyding of Sinne and Harlotrie.' Of the grossness and profaneness of these godly sangs,' the reader will judge by the specimens:

Johne, cum kis me now,

Johne cum kis me now;

John, cum kis me by and by,
And make no more adow.

The Lord thy God I am,

That John does thee call,
John represents the man,
By grace celestiall.

Some objections have been made to the first volume of this work, on account of its not containing, what the Editor's friends are pleased to call, The popular songs of England.' Let me say here that the popular county garlands, collected by Ritson and others, contain few songs reaching mediocrity. The Editor searched these volumes, and the hanging walls of melody in Seven Dials, in the hopes of culling a dozen excellent songs to adorn these pages, the fruit of his research is printed in Vol. I. p. 219. The reader will judge of the general merit of these popular English songs by the specimen.

VOL. II.

с

My prophets call, my preachers cry,
Johne come kis me now;

Johne come kis me by and by,

And mak nae mair adow.

The popular song before alluded to, Hey the day dawis,'-is thus rendered for the service of reli

gion.

Hay now the day dallis,
Now Christ on us callis,
Now welth on our wallis,
Appeiris anone:

Now the word of God rings,
Whilk is King of all Kings;
Now Christis flock sings,

The night is neere gone.

Wo be unto zou hypocrits,

That on the Lord sa loudly lies,

And all to fill zour foull bellies,

Ze are noght of Christ's blude nor bone.

For ze preich your awin dremis,

And sa the word of God blasphemis,

God wot sa weill it seemis,

The night is neere gone.

John Anderson my jo, is said to have been the air of a favourite hymn with the Romish priests.

WOMAN.

John Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae bye,

And ze sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pye;
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat;
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get that.

MAN.

And how doe ze, Cummer? and how hae ze threven?

And how mony bairns hae ze? Woм. Cummer, I hae seven.

MAN. Are they to zour awin gude man? Woм. Na, Cummer, na;

For five of them were gotten, quhan he was awa'.

6

PERCY, II. 132.

By the seven bairns,' says Percy, are meant

6

the Seven Sacraments, five of which were the spurious offspring of Mother Church; the first stanza contains a satirical allusion to the luxury of the Popish clergy.'

I will conclude these specimens of godly sangs,' by a spiritual version' of an old English song quoted by Fletcher in the Knight of the Burning Pestle,

Quho is at my windo, who who:

Goe from my windo, goc, goe:

Quha calls there, so like ane stranger,

Goe from my windo, goe:

Lord I am here.

It was an unholy plan of advancing true religion by means of lasciviousness and profaneness. This is not the only time that song has been made of great service in reformations and revolutions.

Alexander Montgomery flourished in the end of the sixteenth century, and shares with Scott the honour of being the first to give song an elegance of thought and diction. Had not the lyrics of Montgomery fortunately been preserved by printing and manuscript, we should have known little of either his beautiful sentiments or name. After invoking the muse to distil her streams of eloquence in praise of the comeliness of his mistress, he continues—

To kythe hir cunning, Natur wald

Indeu hir with sik grace,
My spreit rejosis to behald

Her smyling angels face,
Lyk Phoebus in the south,
To skorne the rest of youth.