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 published 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

sound Ogie,' recurring so often in the rhyme 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

To beir my tail up frae the dirt,
And ush me throw the toun,
Stand about, ye fisher jads,

And gie my goun room!

["As illustrations of the above song, see Sir Richard Maitland's poem beginning,

Sum wyfis of the Burroustoun,

Sa wonder vane ar, and wantoun,

In warld they wait not quhat to weir,

and Sir David Lyndsay's supplication against Syde Taillis and Mus. salit Faces."-C. K. SHARPE.

The above copy is accurately given from Mr. Sharpe's little curiens Ballad Book, only thirty copies of which were ever printed; Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Chambers gave the song the benefit of their poetical talents, but their emendations are here rejected.]

THE LASSES O' THE CANNOGATE.

The lasses o' the Cannogate,
O, they are wond'rous nice,
They winna gie a single kiss,
But for a double price

Gar hang them, gar hang them

Heich upon a tree,

For we'll get better up the gate,

For a bawbee.

["This seems to be a Satire on the court ladies of Edinburgh, it was remembered by an old Gentlewoman."-C. K. SHARPE.

"The Canongate was densely inhabited by persons of the first distinction."-CHAMBERS.]

THERE LIVED A MAN INTO THE WEST.

There lived a man into the west,
And O but he was cruel,
For on his waddin nicht at e'en
He sat up and grat for gruel.
They brought to him a gude sheep's head,
A napkin, and a towel:

Gar tak your whim-whams a' frae me,
And bring me fast my gruel.

There is nae meal into the house,
What shall I do, my jewel?—
Gae to the pock and shake a lock
For I canna want my gruel.
There is nae milk into the house,
What shall I do my jewel?

Gae to the midden, and milk the soo,
For I wunna want my gruel.

[From the Ballad Book, 1824. Mr. Cunningham has printed a slightly different copy from the recitation of Sir Walter Scott, and added a third verse, in which he has given a name to the bride

'cannie Nancy Newell.']

BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY.

O Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,
They war twa bonnie lasses!
They biggit a bower on yon burn brae,
And theekit it o'er wi' rashes.