Up rose the gudeman's daughter,
All for to bar the door,

And there she saw the beggar-man
Standing on the floor.

He took the lassie in his arms,
Fast to the bed he ran-
O hoolie, hoolie wi' me, Sir,
Ye'll wauken our gudeman.
The beggar was a cunning loon,
And ne'er a word he spak-
But long afore the cock had crawn,
Thus he began to crack.

Is there any dogs into this town?
Maiden tell me true-

And what wad ye do wi' them
My hinny and my dow?
They'll rive a' my meal-powks,
And do me mickle wrang.—
O dool for the doing o't,
Are ye the puir man?

Then she took up the meal-powks,
And flang them o'er the wa',
The deil gae wi' the meal-powks
My maiden fame and a' :-
I took ye for some gentleman,
At least the Laird o' Brodie-

O dool for the dooin' o't,

Are ye the poor bodie?

He took the lassie in his arms,

And

gae her kisses three,

And four-and-twenty hunder merk, To pay the nurse's fee:

He took a wee horn frae his side,
And blew baith loud and shrill,
And four-and-twenty beltit knights,
Came skipping o'er the hill.

And he took out his little knife,
Loot a' his duddies fa'

And he was the brawest gentleman
That was amang them a'.
The beggar was a clever loon,
And he lap shouther height,
O ay for siccan quarters

As I gat yesternight.

And we'll gang nae mair a roving,

A roving in the night;

We'll gang nae mair a roving,

Let the moon shine e'er so bright.

[Mr. Allan Cuningham in his Edition of the Songs of Scotland has very happily added a variation in the chorus to this lively and ludicrous exhibition of a royal intrigue.

2.

And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,

Though maids be e'er so loving,

And the moon shine e'er so bright.

3.

And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,

Save when the moon is moving,

And the stars are shining bright,

4.

And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,

Nor sit a sweet maid loving,

By coal or candle light,

The scrupulous Ritson has allowed this song to be the production of King James.]

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.

In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld,
And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld,
Was threat'ning a' our kye to kill;
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife,
She said to me right hastily.
Get up, gudeman, save Crumie's life,
And tak your auld cloak about ye.

My Crumie is a usefu' cow,

And she is come of a gude kin';
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou',
And I am laith that she should tyne.
Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time,
The sun shines in the lift sae hie;
Sloth never made a gracious end,

Gae tak your auld cloak about ye.

My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear; But now it's scantly worth a groat,

For I hae worn't this thretty year. Let's spend the gear that we hae won, We little ken the day we'll die; Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn To hae a new cloak about me.

In days when our King Robert rang, His trews they cost but half-a-croun; He said they were a groat o'er dear,

And ca'd the tailor thief and loun. He was the king that wore the crown, And thou a man of low degree; It's pride puts a' the country down, Sae tak your auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its ain law,

Ilk kind of corn has its ain hool; I think the warld is a' run wrang,

When ilka wife her man wad rule. Do ye not see Rob, Jock, and Hab, As they are girded gallantly, While I sit hurklin' in the ase?

I'll hae a new cloak about me.

Gudeman, I wat it's thretty years
Since we did ane anither ken;
And we hae had, between us twa,
O' lads and bonnie lasses, ten.
Now they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray weel may they be;
And if you prove a good husband,

E'en tak your auld cloak about ye.

Bell, my wife, she lo'es na strife,
But she wad guide me if she can ;
And, to maintain an easy life,

I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman.
Nought's to be won at woman's han',
Unless ye gie her a' the plea;
Then I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak my auld cloak about me.

[This very old ballad is claimed by both England and Scotlandit is now beginning to be generally admitted that the English version printed by Percy from his old folio, is not the original. The present copy preserved by Ramsay, is far superior in merit. The reader will recollect Iago's singing:

King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;

He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he called the tailor-lown.

He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree,

"Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thy auld cloak about thee.]

TODLIN HAME.

When I hae a saxpence under my thumb,
Then I'll get credit in ilka town:

But ay when I'm poor they bid me gae by;
O! poverty parts good company.

Todlin hame, todlin hame,
Coudna my love come todlin hame?