But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!—

I'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!

Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith—

The beast again can bear us baith,
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
And clout the bad girdin' o't.

* A well-known rocky islet in the mouth of the Frith of Clyde.

Meg grew sick as he grew hale;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;

And oh, her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan was a lad o' grace;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Maggie's was a piteous case;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd1 his wrath;
Now they're crouse and canty2 baith;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

THE PLOUGHMAN.

Tune-"Up wi' the ploughman.

THE fourth and fifth verses only of this piece are by Burns; the remainder by some older writer.

1 Smothered.

THE ploughman he's a bonny lad,
His mind is ever true, jo;
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.

Then up wi' my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman !
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wat and weary;
Cast aff the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie!

I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will dress his o'erlay ;3
I will mak my ploughman's bed,
And cheer him late and early,

I hae been east, I hae been west,
I hae been at Saint Johnston;
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.

Snaw-white stockin's on his legs,
And siller buckles glancin';
A guid blue bonnet on his head-
And oh, but he was handsome!

Commend me to the barn-yard,
And the corn-mou,* man;
I never gat my coggie fu',

Till I met wi' the ploughman.

LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN.

Tune-"Hey Tutti, Taiti.”

THE first two verses of this are by Burns; the others belong to a ditty of an earlier date.

LANDLADY, Count the lawin,
The day is near the dawin;
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys,
And I'm but jolly fou.
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-
Wha's fou now?

Cog and ye were aye fou,
Cog and ye were aye fou,
I wad sit and sing to you,
If ye were aye fou.

Weel may ye a' be!
Ill may we never see!

God bless the king, boys,

And the companie!
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-
Wha's fou now?

TO DAUNTON ME.

Tune-"To daunton me."

THE blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,

* The gap left in the pile of corn-sheaves in the barn as they are removed to the threshing-flocr.

1 Limps.

The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me so young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

For a' his meal and a' his maut,

For a' his fresh beef and his saut,

For a' his gold and white monie,

An auld man shall never daunton me.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee,

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

He hirples1 twa-fauld as he dow,2

Wi' his teethless gab3 and his auld beld pow,
And the rain dreeps down frae his red bleer'd ee;
That auld man shall never daunton me.

COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE.
Tune-" O'er the Water to Charlie."

COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie ;
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,
To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ;
Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.

Tune-"Rattlin', roarin' Willie.”

"THE hero of this chant," says Burns, "was one of the worthiest fellow in the world-William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the signet, Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan corps-a club of wits, who took that title at the time of raising the fencible regiments." The last stanza only was the work of the poet.

O RATTLIN', roarin' Willie,

Oh, he held to the fair,
And for to sell his fiddle,
And buy some other ware;
But parting wi' his fiddle,
The saut tear blin't his ee;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
Ye're welcome hame to me !

O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
Oh, sell your fiddle sae fine;
O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
And buy a pint o' wine!
If I should sell my fiddle,

The warl' would think I was mad;

For mony a rantin' day

My fiddle and I hae had.

As I cam by Crochallan,
I cannily keekit ben-
Rattlin', roarin' Willie

Was sitting at yon board en';
Sitting at yon board en',

And amang guid companie;

Rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!

MY HOGGIE.*

Tune-"What will I do gin my hoggie die ?"

WHAT will I do gin my hoggie die?
My joy, my pride, my hoggie!

My only beast, I had nae mae,
And vow but I was vogie!1

1 Vain.

* Hoggie-a young sheep before it is first shorn.