Every lassie has her laddie,

Ne'er a ane hae I;

Yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e mysel';

But whaur his hame, or what his name,

I dinna care to tell.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin' frae the town,
Gin a body greet a body,
Need a body frown?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Ne'er a ane hae I;

Yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain

I dearly lo'e mysel';

But whaur his hame, or what his name,

I dinna care to tell.

BIDE YE YET.

ANONYMOUS. From Herd's Collection, 1769. Air-"The wayward wife."

GIN I had a wee house an' a canty wee fire,
An' a bonnie wee wifie to praise and admire,
Wi' a bonnie wee yardie aside a wee burn,
Fareweel to the bodies that yaumer and mourn.
Sae bide ye yet, an' bide ye yet;
Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet;
Some bonnie wee body may fa' to my lot,
An I'll aye be canty wi' thinkin' o't.

When I gang a-field, an' come hame at e'en,
I'll get my wee wifie fu' neat an' fu' clean,
Wi' a bonnie wee bairnie upon her knee,
That'll cry papa or daddy to me.

Sae bide ye yet, &c.

An' if there should ever happen to be
A difference atween my wee wifie an' me,
In hearty good humour, although she be teased,
I'll kiss her an' clap her until she be pleased.
Sae bide ye yet, &c.

THE BRISK YOUNG LAD.

ANONYMOUS. Herd's Collection, 1776. Air-"Bung your eye in the morning."

THERE cam' a young man to my daddie's door,

My daddie's door, my daddie's door;

There cam' a young man to my daddie's door,
Cam' seeking me to woo.

And wow, but he was a braw young lad,
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad;
And wow, but he was a braw young lad,
Cam' seeking me to woo.

But I was baking when he came,
When he came, when he came ;
I took him in and gied him a scone,
To thowe his frozen mou'.

I set him in aside the bink;

I ga'e him bread and ale to drink;
But ne'er a blythe styme wad he blink
Until his wame was fu'.

Gae, get you gone, you cauldrife wooer,
Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer!
I straightway show'd him to the door,
Saying, Come nae mair to woo.

There lay a deuk-dub before the door,
Before the door, before the door;
There lay a deuk-dub before the door,
And there fell he, I trow.

Out cam' the gudeman, and high he shouted;
Out cam' the gudewife, and laigh she louted;
And a' the toun-neebors were gather'd about it;
And there lay he, I trow.

Then out cam' I, and sneer'd and smiled:
Ye cam' to woo, but ye're a' beguiled;

Ye've fa'en i' the dirt, and ye're a' befiled:
We'll hae nae mair o' you.

The chorus is repeated at the end of every stanza. The music of this old song is quaint, characteristic, and peculiarly Scottish.

TIBBIE FOWLER.

From Herd's Collection, 1776. Air-"Tibbie Fowler."

TIBBIE Fowler o' the glen,

There's ower many wooin' at her;

Tibbie Fowler o' the glen,

There's ower many wooin' at her.

Wooin' at her, pu'in' at her,

Courtin' ner, and canna get her

Filthy elf! it's for her pelf

That a' the lads are wooin' at her.

Ten cam' east, and ten cam' west,

Ten cam' rowin' o'er the water;
Twa cam' down the lang dyke-side:
There's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her!

There's seven but and seven ben,
Seven i' the pantry wi' her;
Twenty head about the door:
There's ane-and-forty wooin' at her!

She's got pendles in her lugs-
Cockle-shells wad set her better!
High-heel'd shoon and siller tags;

An' a' the lads are wooin' at her!

Be a lassie e'er sae black,

Gin she hae the penny siller,
Set her up on Tintock tap,

The wind will blaw a man till her.

Be a lassie e'er sae fair,

An' she want the penny siller,
A flie may fell her i' the air,

Before a man be even'd till her.

The first two stanzas of this song appeared in Herd's Collection. The song itself is mentioned by Allan Ramsay in the "Tea-Table Miscellany." The authorship has been claimed for the Rev. Dr. Strachan, minister of Carnwater; but he appears to have simply remodelled, and perhaps improved, the old song spoken of by Ramsay.

OUR GUDEMAN CAM' HAME.

ANONYMOUS. Herd's Collection, 1776. Air-" Our gudeman."

OUR gudeman cam' hame at e'en,

And hame cam' he;

And there he saw a saddle-horse

Where nae horse should be.
Oh, how cam' this horse here?
How can this be?

How cam' this horse here

Without the leave o' me?
A horse! quo' she;
Ay, a horse, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,
And blinder mat ye be!
It's but a bonnie milk-cow
My mither sent to me.
A milk-cow! quo' he;
Ay, a milk-cow, quo' she.

Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;

But a saddle on a milk-cow

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en,

And hame cam' he;