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At nine o'clock the lads convene,
Some clad in blue, some clad in green,
Wi’ shinin' buckles in their sheen

And flowers on their waistcoats ;
Out cam'the wives a' wi' a phrase,
And wish'd the lassies happy days ;
And muckle thought they o' their claes,
Especially the breast-knots-

Singing, hey the bonnie, &c,
The bride she was baith young and fair ;
Her neck outshone her pearlins rare ;
A satin snood bound


her hair,
And flowers among her breast-knots.
The bridegroom gazed—but mair, I ween,
He prized the glance of love's blue e'en,
That made him proud o' his sweet Jean,
When she got on her breast-knots.

Singing, hey the bonnie, &c.


A BLESSING unknown to ambition and pride,

That fortune can never abate,
To wealth and to splendour though often denied

Yet on poverty deigns to await :
That blessing, ye pow'rs! still be it my lot,

The choicest best gift from above,
Deep fix'd in my heart shall be never forgot,

That the wealth of the cottage is love.
Whate'er my condition, why should I repine ?

By poverty never distress'd ;
Exulting I felt what a treasure was mine,

A treasure enshrin'd in my breast.
That blessing, ye pow'rs ! still be it my lot,

The choicest best gift from above,
Still fix'd in my heart shall be never forgot,

That the wealth of the cottage is love.

Buy a broom! buy a broom!
Large broom ! small broom! buy, buy a broom ;
No lady should e'er be without one ;

They're the handiest things in the world,
When insects are buzzing about one,

Or dust through the casement has curl'd And what are the insects that flirt with the flowers To those that flirt daily round beauty's bowers ? Or the dust on the polish'd piano that lies, To that which love throws into ladies' eyes !

Buy a broom ! &c. Come, gentlemen, too, while I'm selling,

Come, to purchase, in crowds you should rush,
For in times such as these there's no telling,

How soon 'twill be prudent to brush.
You'll pardon the hint, 'twas in kindness I spoke,
I've meaning beyond such a very old joke ;
There's few in the world, I believe

you But have something or other they'd fain sweep away.

Buy a broom, &c.

will say,

DRAW THE SWORD, SCOTLAND. DRAW the sword, Scotland! Scotland! Scotland! Over hill and mountain hath pass'd the war sign, The Pibroch is pealing! pealing ! pealing! Who heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine. The clans they are gathering, gathering, gathering, The clans they are gathering by loch and by lea; The banners they are flying, flying, flying, The banners they are flying that lead to victory. Draw the sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland ! Charge, as you've charged in the days lang syne ; Sound to the onset, the onset, the onset ; He who but falters is nae son o' thine.

Sheath the sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland ;
Sheath the sword Scotland, for dimn’d is its shine ;
Thy foemen are fleeing, fleeing, fleeing,
And who kens nae mercy is nae son o' thine.
The struggle is over, over, over,
The struggle is over, the victory won;
There are tears for the fallen, the fallen, the fallen,
And glory for all who their duty have done.
Sheath the sword Scotland! Scotland! Scotland !
With thy loved thistle new laurels entwine ;
Time ne'er shall part them, part them, part them,
But hand down the garland to each son o'thine.


VERY near the west-end, tho' I must not tell where,
A shoemaker married a maiden so fair,
Who a month after wedlock, 'tis truth I declare,

Fell in love with a twopenny postman.
Her person was thin, genteel, and tall,
Her carrotty hair did in ringlets fall,
And while her spousy work'd hard at his stall,

She watch'd this twopenny postman.
He was just four feet six in height,
But a well made figure to the sight ;
He walked like a beefeater, bolt upright,

Mr. Walker, the twopenny postman.
His toes he turn'd out, he had bright black eyes,
His nose was more than the common size,
And he really look'd without any lies,

Too genteel for a twopenny postman.
Resolved she was to get in his way,
So without any trouble she met him one day,
And says she, “ Have you got e'er a letter I say,

For me, Mr. Twopenny Postman.”


Says he, “I don't know you ;” says she, “Good lack,
I lives next door in the two-pair back, -
My husband's a cobbler, 'tis all in your

“ It's all right,” says the twopenny postman.
Next morning, I can't tell you what she was at,
She felt her heart suddenly beat pit-a-pat,
When she heard at the street-door a double rat-tat ;

And in came the twopenny postman.
“ Here's a letter,” said he, the cunning elf,
“ The postage is paid, so needs no pelf.”.
In fact he had written the letter himself,

And brought it, the twopenny postman.
With love in his eyes, he then at her did stare;
Says he, “ I ne'er saw a lady so fair :
I always was partial to carrotty hair-

I was,” says the twopenny postman. " That your husband ill-treats you I can't suppose"“Yes, he gives me bad words and sometimes blows; He's an ugly man, and has got no nose.'

“I have,” says the twopenny postman.
His kindness was such that it knew no end,
And to prove that he really was a real friend,
He took her spouse three pair of shoes for to mend,

Mr. Walker, the twopenny postman.
They were soled and heel'd without delay ;
To the cobbler he had so much to say:
He got the shoes, but as for the pay,

'Twas Walker the twopenny postman. Ever since then they've led a cat-and-dog life ; Their home, bed, and board, have been nothing but

The cobbler was done, and so was his wife

By Walker, the twopenny postman.
For by way of a finish to this vile act,
The lady (depend on't, 'tis a fact)
Has brought him a boy the image exact

Of Walker, the twopenny postman.

TELL ME MY HEART. Tell me my heart, why morning prime,

Looks like the fading eve,
Why the gay larks celestial chime,

Shall tell, shall tell, the soul to grieve ;
The heaving bosom seems to say,
Ah ! hapless maid, your love's away.
Tell me my heart, why summer's glow,

A wintry day beguile ;
Why Flora's beauties seem to blow,

And fading nature smiles,
Some zephyr whispers in my ear,
Ah! happy maid your love is near.

One night my sweetheart came to woo,

When I was left and lonely,
He looked so kind and handsome too,

I loved him and him only.
The village chime told supper time,

What could I do dear misses?
For, as I live, I'd nought to give,
But bread, and cheese, and kisses.

But bread, and cheese, &c. He asked my hand with such a grace,

What woman could refuse him ? I think, had you been in my place,

You'd say 'twas right to choose him ; I hung my head, and simpering said,

What could I say dear misses ?
I will be thine, though we should dine
On bread, and cheese, and kisses.

On bread, and cheese, &c.

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