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SONGS OF SCOTLAND.'

I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,

These ten years and a quarter ;
Gin ye should come to Anster Fair,

Spier ye for Maggie Lauder.

["This old song, so pregnant with Scottish naiveté and energy, is much relished by all ranks notwithstanding its broad wit and palpable allusions. Its language is a precious model of imitation : sky

, sprightly, and forcibly expressive. Maggie's tongue wags out the nicknames of

tob the piper with all the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety."-BURNS.

From Herd's Collection, first Edition. 8vo. 1969. The second Editica in two volumes did not appear till 1776.]

WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'.

The bride cam' out o' the byre,

An’O as she dighted her cheeks !
Sirs, I'm to be married the night,

An' have neither blankets nor sheets :
Have neither blankets nor sheets,

Nor scarce a coverlet too;
The bride that has a' to borrow
Has e'en right mickle ado.
Woo'd and woo'd and married,

Married and woo'd and a',
And was she nae very well off

That was woo'd and married and a'.

Out spake the bride's father,

As he cam' in frae the pleugh ; O haud your tongue, my dochter,

And ye's get gear enough ;

The stirk that stands i' th' tether,

And our bra' bawsint yade,
Will carry ye hame your corn,

What wad ye be at, ye jade ?
Out spake the bride's mither,

What deil needs a' this pride :
I had nae a plack in my pouch

That night I was a bride ;
My gown was linsy-woolsy,

And ne'er a sark ava;
An' ye hae ribbons an' buskins,

Mae than ane or twa.
What's the matter, quo' Willie,

Tho' we be scant o'claes,
We'll creep the closer thegither,

And we'll smore a the fleas :
Simmer is coming on,

And we'll get teats o' woo,
And we'll get a lass o' our ain,

And she'll spin claiths anew.
Out spake the bride's brither,

As he cam' in wi’ the kye ;
Poor Willie wad ne'er hae ta’en ye

Had he kent ye as weel as I ;
For ye’re baith proud and saucy,

And no for a poor man's wife ;
Gin I canna get a better,
l'se ne'er tak ane i' my

life. Out spake the bride's sister,

As she came in frae the byre ;
O gin I were but married,

It's a' that I desire :

But we poor fouk maun live single,

And do the best we can;
I dinna care what I should want,

If I could get a man.

(First publisbed by David Herd in 1769. It is an excellent and an ancient song, says Mr. Cunningham.]

KATHERINE OGIE.

As walking forth to view the plain,

Upon a morning early,
While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain,

From flowers which grew so rarely;
I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid,

She shin'd, though it was foggie ;
I ask'd her name: Kind Sir, she said,

My name is Kath’rine Ogie.

I stood a while, and did admire,

To see a nymph so stately;
So brisk an air there did appear

In a country-maid so neatly:
Such natural sweetness she display'd

Like a lilie in a bogie ;
Diana's self was ne'er array'd

Like this same Kath'rine Ogie.
Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen,

Who sees thee, sure must prize thee;
Though thou art dress’d in robes but mean,

Yet these cannot disguise thee;

Thy handsome air, and graceful look,

Far excel any clownish rogie;
Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,

My charming Kath'rine Ogie.
O were I but some shepherd swain !

To feed my flock beside thee,
At bughting-time to leave the plain,

In milking to abide thee ;
I'd think myself a happier man,

With Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,

Had I but Kath'rine Ogie.
Then I'd despise th' imperial throne,

And statesmen's dang’rous stations :
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,

I'd smile at conqu’ring nations :
Might I caress and still possess

This lass of whom I'm vogie ;
For these are toys, and still look less,

Compar'd with Kath'rine Ogie.
But I fear the gods have not decreed

For me so fine a creature,
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed

All other works in nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,

That are both dark and foggie :
Pity my case, ye powers above,

Else I die for Kath'rine Ogie !

[“ The song of Katherine Ogie is very poor stuff, and altogether unworthy of so beautiful an air. I tried to alter it, but the awkward

VOL. 11.

ע

sound' Ogie,' recurring so often in the rhymo spoils every attempt at altering the piece."-Burns.

Allan Cunningham calls it a genuine, old, and excellent song. “I have some suspicion," he adds, "that the original name was Katherine Logie." In D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, there is an Anglo-Scottish song, but a very execrable one of 'Katharine Loggy.'

Katherine Ogie was first printed by Ramsay, with the letter X. ap. pended to it, signifying that the author's name was unknown.]

I'LL GAR OUR GUDEMAN TROW,

I'll gar our gudeman trow

That I'll sell the ladle,
If he winna buy to me

A new side saddle,
To ride to the kirk and frae the kirk,

And round about the toun,
Stand about, ye fisher jads,

And gie my goun room!
I'll gar our gudeman trow

That I'll take the fling-strings,
If he winna buy to me

Twelve bonnie goud rings;
Ane for ilka finger,

And twa for ilka thoom;
Stand about, ye fisher jads,

And gie my goun room!

I'll gar our gudeman trow

That I'll tak the glengore,
If he winna fee to me

Three valets or four

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