"Sad will I be so bereft, Nancy, Nancy; Yet I'll try to make a shift, My poor heart then break it must, My last hour I'm near it; Think, think, how you will bear it. "I will hope and trust in heaven, Nancy, Nancy; Strength to bear it will be given, Well, sir, from the silent dead "I'll wed another like my dear Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse Nancy." "Your humorous English song to suit 'Jo Janet' is inimitable."-Thomson, in a Letter to Burns. WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. BURNS. Air-" Whistle o'er the lave o't." FIRST when Maggie was my care, Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Whistle o'er the lave o't. How we live, my Meg and me, TO DAUNTON ME. Chiefly by BURNS. THE bluid-red rose at Yule may blaw, For a' his meal, for a' his maut, For a' his fresh beef and his saut, For a' his gowd and white monie, An auld man shall never daunton me. His gear may buy him kye and yowes, He hirples twa-fauld, as he dow, Wi' his teethless gab and auld bauld pow, The original of this song will be found among "Hogg's Jacobite Relies.' subject is a favourite one with the early and later Scottish song-writers. The DUNCAN GRAY. BURNS. DUNCAN Gray cam' here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe Yule night when we were fu', Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie dee ? She may gae to-France for me! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg grew sick as he grew well, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And, oh, her een they speak sic things! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Maggie's was a pi'eous case, Ha, ha, the wooing o't: Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Founded upon an old and licentious ballad of the same name, but having nothing in common with it but the chorus and the title. "Duncan Gray," says Burns to Thomson, "is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. 99 "Duncan. The ludicrous is its ruling feature.' says Thomson in reply. " is a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body." The Hon. A. Erskine, in a letter to the poet, says, " Duncan Gray possesses native genuine humour. 'Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn,' is a line that of itself should make immortal." you CONTENTIT WI' LITTLE. BURNS. Air-"Lumps o' pudding." CONTENTED wi' little and cantie wi' mair, I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a'; When at the blythe end of our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has pass'd? Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; P LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. BURNS. Air-"The Lothian lassie." LAST May a braw wooer came down the lang glen, I said there was naething I hated like men : He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, I said he might die when he liked for Jean : A weel-stockit mailin, him sel' for the laird, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers; But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less- He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess: Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear her; Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her! But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care, I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock ; But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink, My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, |