Then coming was the night fae dark,
And gane was a' the light o' day;
The carl was fear'd to miss his mark,

And therefore wad nae langer stay.
Then up he gat, and he ran his way,
I trow the wife the day she wan.
And ay the o'erword o' the fray
Was ever, Alake, my auld goodman.

S

Auld SIR SIMON the King.

OME say that kiffing's a sin,

But I say that winna ftand:

It is a most innocent thing,

And allow'd by the laws of the land.

If it were a tranfgreffion,

The ministers it would reprove;
But they, their elders and session,
Can do it as weel as the lave.

Its lang fince it came in fashion,
I'm fure it will never be done,
As lang as there's in the nation,
A lad, lafs, wife, or a lown.

What can I say more to commend it,
Tho' I should speak all my life?
Yet this will I fay in the end o't,
Let ev'ry man kifs his ain wife.

Let him kifs her, clap her, and dawt her,
And gie her benevolence due,

And that will a thrifty wife mak her,

And fae I'll bid farewell to you.

Auld Wife beyont the Fire.

THE

'HERE was a wife won'd in a glen,
and he had dochters nine or ten,

That fought the house baith butt and ben,

To find their mam a fnishing.

The auld wife beyont the fire,

The auld wife aneift the fire,
The auld wife aboon the fire,
She died for lack of fnishing*.

Her mill into fome hole had fawn,
Whatrecks, quoth fhe, let it be gawn,
For I maun hae a young goodman
Shall furnish me with snishing.
The auld wife, &c.

Her eldest dochter faid right bauld,
Fy mother, mind that now ye're auld,
And if ye with a younker wald,

He'll wafte away your fnifhing.

The auld wife, &c.

The youngest dochter gae a fhout,
O mother dear! your teeth's a' out,
Besides ha'f blind, you hae the gout,
Your mill can had nae fnishing.
The auld wife, &c.

Ye lied, ye limmers, cries auld mump,
For I hae baith a tooth and stump,

* Snifhing, in its literal meaning, is fnuff made of tobacco ; but in this fong it means fometimes contentment, a husband, love, money, &c.

And will nae langer live in dump,
By wanting o' my fnishing.
The auld wife, &c.

Thole ye, fays PEG, that pauky flut, Mother, if you can crack a nut,

Then we will a' confent to it,

That you shall have a fnishing.
The auld wife, &c.

The auld ane did agree to that,
And they a pistol-bullet gat ;

She powerfully began to crack,

To win herself a fnishing.

The auld wife, &c.

Braw fport it was to see her chow't,

And 'tween her gums fae squeeze and row't
While frae her jaws the flaver flow't,

And ay she curs'd poor stumpy.
The auld wife, &c.

At last she gae a defperate squeeze,

Which brak the auld tooth by the neez,

And fyne poor ftumpy was at ease,

But she tint hopes of fnishing.
The auld wife, &c.

She of the task began to tire,
And frae her dochters did retire,

Syne lean'd her down ayont the fire,
And died for lack of fnishing.
The auld wife, &c.

Ye auld wives, notice weel this truth,
Affoon as ye're past mark of mouth,

Ne'er do what's only fit for youth,
And leave aff thoughts of fnifhing:
Elfe like this wife beyont the fire,
Your bairns against you will confpire;
Nor will ye get, unless ye hire,
A young man with your fnishing.

ANDRO and his Cutty Gun.

LYTH, blyth, blyth was fhe,

B

Blyth was she butt and ben;
And weel she loo'd a Hawick gill,

And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, and fet me down,
And heght to keep me lawin-free;
But, cunning carlin that she was,
She gart me birle my bawbie.

We loo'd the liquor weel enough;

But waes my heart my cash was done, Before that I had quench'd my drowth, And laith I was to paund my shoon. When we had three times toom'd our stoup, And the neist chappin new begun, In started, to heeze up our hope, Young ANDRO wi' his cutty gun.

The carlin brought her kebbuck ben,
With girdle-cakes weel toafted brown;

Weel does the canny kimmer ken

They gar the fcuds gae glibber down.

We ca'd the bicker aft about ;

Till dawning we ne'er jee'd our bun:
And ay the clearest drinker out,

Was ANDRO wi' his cutty gun.

He did like ony mavis fing,
And as I in his oxter fat,
He ca'd me ay his bonny thing,
And mony a sappy kifs I gat.
I hae been east, I hae been west,
I hae been far ayont the sun;
But the blytheft lad that e'er I saw,
Was ANDRO wi' his cutty gun.

W

Bagrie o't.

HEN I think on this warld's pelf,

And how little I hae o't to myself; I figh when I look on my thread-bare coat, And shame fa' the gear and the bagrie o't.

JOHNNY was the lad that held the plough,
But now he has got goud and gear enough;

I weel mind the day when he was nae worth a groat,
And shame fa',

&c.

JENNY was the lafs that mucked the byre,

But now she goes in her filken attire ;

And she was a lass who wore a plaiden coat,
And shame fa', &c.