Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side, oh, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
I care na thy daddy, his lands and his money,
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly:
But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur-
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar!
WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN WI' FLOWERS.
Tune "The gardener wi' his paidle."
THE song which follows this, Dainty Davie, is an improved version of the
WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy, are his hours-
The gardener wi' his paidle.1
The crystal waters gently fa';
The merry birds are lovers a';
The scented breezes round him blaw-
The gardener wi' his paidle.
When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then through the dews he maun repair-
The gardener wi' his paidle.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature's rest,
He flies to her arms he lo'es the best-
The gardener wi' his paidle.
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A-wandering wi' my Davie.
When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then through the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.
Tune-"Highlander's Lament."
THE chorus of this song belonged to an old ballad.
Tune-"Ye gallants bright."
"I COMPOSED this song," says the poet, "out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend, Mr. Allan Masterton, composer of the air, 'Strathallan's Lament.""
YE gallants bright, I rede1 ye right,
Beware o' bonny Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace
Your heart she will trepan.2
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimply3 laced her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant move,
And Pleasure leads the van:
In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonny Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man ;
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a',
Beware o' bonny Ann!
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go ;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR.
THIS is an improved and condensed version of a somewhat wordy ballad, written by a Mr. Barclay, an Edinburgh clergyman of some note in his day.
"OH cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man?"
"I saw the battle sair and tough,
And reekin' red ran mony a sheugh;1
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,2
Wha glaum'd3 at kingdoms three, man.
"The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them werna slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd,
And mony a bouk did fa', man :
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanced for twenty miles;
They hack'd and hash'd while broadswords clash'd,
And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey 5 men died awa', man.
"But had ye seen the philabegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man ;
When in the teeth they dared our Whigs
And covenant true-blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.”
'Oh, how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man;
I saw mysel they did pursue
The horsemen back to Forth, man ;
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut ;
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf,1 man!"
"My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie2 unto me, man;
She swore she saw some rebels run
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man:
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neibors' bluid to spill;
For fear by foes that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose, they scared at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
"They've lost some gallant gentlemen
Amang the Highland clans, man;
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man:
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
And mony bade the world guid-night;
Then ye may tell how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets' knell,
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell,
And Whigs to hell did flee, man.
Tune-" On a Bank of Flowers."
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wandering through the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd
And trembled where he stood.
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