Fair fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca' it awa'. As round as a neep come todlin hame. My kimmer and I lay doun to sleep, 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 When round as a neep ye come todlin hame [From Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. best bottle song ever composed."-BURNS.] mou'; "This is perhaps the THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION. Will ye gae to the ewe-bughts, Marion, O, Marion's a bonnie lass, And the blythe blinks in her ee; At e'en when I come hame. There's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion; And ye'se get a green sey apron, And waistcoat o' London brown, I'm young and stout, my Marion; And kirtle o' cramasie; And soon as my chin has nae hair on, [First printed in the Tea Table Miscellany. Percy inserted it in his Reliques with the following note, "This Sonnet appears to be ancient : that and its simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here."] I LOVED THEE ONCE. SIR ROBERT AYTON. Born 1570-Died 1638. I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more, Thine be the grief, as is the blame; What reason I should be the same? God send me love my debts to pay, Nothing could have my love o'erthrown When new desires had conquer'd thee, It had been lethargy in me, No constancy, to love thee still: Yea, it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so; Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray. Yet do thou glory in thy choice; To see him gain what I have lost : [Sir Robert Ayton was Secretary to Anne the wife of the first English James. There is little known of his Life. Jonson told Drummond that Sir R. Aiton lo'ed him dearly.' He lies buried in Westminster Abbey where a handsome monument is erected to his memory.] I DO CONFESS THOU'RT SMOOTH AND FAIR. SIR ROBERT AYTON. I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee; That lips could speak had power to move thee As worthy to be loved by none. I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, And I will sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. ["This song," writes Robert Chambers, "is generally printed with the name of Sir Robert Ayton as author; but it is a suspicious cir. cumstance that, in Watson's Collection (1706-11), where several poems by Sir Robert are printed with his name in a cluster, this is inserted at a different part of the work, without his name." The following is Burns' alteration of the above exquisite stanzas"I do think," says the poet, "that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving them a Scot's dress,"— "This,' I do confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in love, Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, thy heart could move. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind, That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, Sic fate, ere lang shall thee betide, Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile; Like ony common weed and vile. says Mr. Cunningham, "is almost the only song which Burns failed to improve."] |