O bid him never tie them mair
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
And let them wander at their will;
So may his flock increase, and grow
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' !

Tell him he was a master kin',
And aye was guid to me and mine;
And now my dying charge I gie him
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him.

‹ Oh, bid him save their harmless lives Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, Till they be fit to fend themsel; And tent them duly, e'en and morn, Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn.

'And may they never learn the gaets Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets;

To slink through slaps, and reave and steal
At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail.

So may they, like their great forbears,
For mony a year come through the shears :
So wives will gie them bits o' bread,
And bairns greet for them when they 're dead.

'My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care; And if he live to be a beast,

To pit some havins in his breast!

'And warn him, what I winna name,
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ;
And no to rin and wear his cloots,
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes.

'And neist my yowie, silly thing,
Gude keep thee frae a tether string;
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop,
But aye keep mind to moop and mell
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel.

'And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : And when you think upo' your mither, Mind to be kin' to ane anither.

'Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail To tell my master a' my tale;

And bid him burn his cursed tether,

And, for thy pains, thou 's get my blether.'

This said, poor Mailie turned her head,
And closed her een amang the dead.

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY.

LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose,

Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close,

Past a' remead;

The last sad cape-stane of his woes -
Poor Mailie 's dead!

It's no the loss o' warl's gear,

That could sae bitter draw the tear,
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear
The mourning weed:

He's lost a friend and neibor dear,
In Mailie dead.

Through a' the toun she trotted by him; A lang half-mile she could descry him; Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, She ran wi' speed:

A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him Than Mailie dead.

I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
And could behave hersel wi' mense:
I'll say 't she never brak a fence,

Through thievish greed.

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence
Sin' Mailie 's dead.

Or, if he wanders up the howe,
Her living image in her yowe,
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe,
For bits o' bread;

And down the briny pearls rowe
For Mailie dead.

She was nae get o' moorland tips,
Wi' tawted ket, and hairy hips,

For her forbears were brought in ships
Frae yont the Tweed:

A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips
Than Mailie dead.1

Wae worth the man wha first did shape
That vile, wanchancie thing a rape!
It makes guid fellows girn and gape,
Wi' chokin' dread;

And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape,
For Mailie dead.

Oh a' ye bards on bonnie Doon!
And wha on Ayr your chanters tune!
Come, join the melancholious croon
O' Robin's reed!

His heart will never get aboon -
His Mailie 's dead!

JOHN BARLEYCORN-A BALLAD.

THERE

HERE were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high; And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.

1 Variation in original MS. :

She was nae get o' runted rams,

Wi' woo like goats, and legs like trams;
She was the flower o' Fairly lambs,
A famous breed;

Now Robin, greetin', chows the hams
O' Mailie dead.

They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head;

And they hae sworn a solemn oath,

John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,

And showers began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel armed wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Shewed he began to fail.

His colour sickened more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To shew their deadly rage.

They 've taen a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,

And cudgelled him full sore;