Is this a time to think o' wark? There's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck about the house, Is this a time to think o' wark, Gi' me my cloak, I'll down the key, There's nae luck about the house, &c. Rise up and mak' a clean fireside, Mak' their shoon as black as slaes, There are twa hens into the crip, There's nae luck, &c. Bring down to me my bigonet, And then gae tell the Bailie's wife, That Colin's come to town. My Turkey slippers I'll put on, And a' to pleasure our good man, There's nae luck, &c. Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue, His breath's like cauler air, His very tread has music in't, And will I see his face again? THE JOLLY BEGGARS. A CANTATA.-By Robert Burns. RECITATIVO. WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird, When hail stanes drive wi' bitter skite, In hoary cranreuch drest! Ae night at e'en a merry core O' randie gangrel bodies, In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, To drink their orra duddies! Wi' quffing and laughing, They ranted and they sang; Wi' jumping and thumping, First niest the fire in auld red rags, Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, And knapsack a' in order; His doxy lay within his arm, Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm- An' ay he gives the tozle drab Ilk smack still did crack still, AIR. TUNE- Soldiers Joy.' I. I AM a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c. II. My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram; I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c. III. I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt❜ries, IV. And now, tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet, As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. V. Lal de daudle, &c. What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c. RECITATIVO. He ended, and the kebars sheuk While frighted rattons backward leuk, A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, He skir'd out encore! But up arose the martial chuck, AIR. TUNE- Soldier Laddie." I. I ONCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, II. Sing, lal de lal, &c. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, Sing, lal de lal, &c. III. But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, IV. Sing, lal de lal, &c. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, V. Sing, lal de lal, &c. But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, VI. Sing, lal de lal, &c. And now I have liv'd-I know not how long, But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, RECITATIVO. Sing, lal de lal, &c. Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, |