DAMON AND SYLVIA.

Tune-"The tither morn, as I forlorn."

YON wandering rill that marks the hill,
And glances o'er the brae; sir,
Slides by a bower, where mony a flower
Sheds fragrance on the day, sir.

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay,
To love they thought nae crime, sir;
The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang,
While Damon's heart beat time, sir.

SHELAH O'NEIL.

WHEN first I began for to sigh and to woo her,
Of many fine things I did say a great deal,
But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best
Was, Oh, will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil?
My point I soon carried, for straight we were married,
Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel,—
For she scolded, she fisted, oh, then I enlisted,
Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shelah O'Neil.

Then, tired and dull-hearted, oh, then I deserted,
And fled into regions far distant from home;
To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me,
Save Shelah herself, in the shape of a bomb.
I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle,

Felt sharp shot, alas! and the sharp-pointed steel ;
But in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found
Aught so sharp as the tongue of cursed Shelah O'Neil.

1 Child.

THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS.
THERE'S news, lasses, news,

Guid news I have to tell;

There's a boatfu' o' lads

Come to our town to sell.

CHORUS.

The wean1 wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod,2
And I'll no gang to my bed
Until I get a nod.

2 Pillow.

D

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she,
Do what you can;

I'll no gang to my bed
Till I get a man.

I hae as guid a craft rig1
As made o' yird and stane;
And waly fa' the ley-crap, 2
For I maun till'd again.

THERE WAS A WIFE.

THERE was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen,
Scroggam;

She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen.
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

The guidwife's dochter fell in a fever,
Scroggam;

The priest o' the parish fell in anither.
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither,
Scroggam;

That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither.
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

1 Croft ridge.

2 Grass-crop.

Here cursing swearing Burton lies

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Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay.

Here lie Willie Michie's banes

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd
Here lies a rose, a budding rose

Here lies John Bushby, honest man!

Here lies Johnny Pigeon

Here lies with Death auld Grizzel Grim

Here souter Hood in death does sleep

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd
Here's a bottle and an honest friend!

Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives
He who of Rankine sang lies stiff and dead
Honest Will's to heaven gaen

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired
How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace?
How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite
Humid seal of soft affections

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