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What though we canna boast of our guineas O, We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies (); And these I am certain are

More desirable by far

Than a pock full of yellow steenies O.

We've seen many a wonder and ferly O,
Of changes that almost are yearly O,
Among rich folk up and down,

Both in country and in town,

Who now live but scrimply and barely O.

Then why should people brag of prosperity O? A straiten'd life we see is no rarity O;

Indeed, we've been in want,

And our living been but scant,

Yet we never were reduced to need charity O.

In this house we first came thegither O,
Where we've long been a father and mither O;
And though not of stone and lime,

It will last us a' our time,

And I hope we shall never need anither O.

JENNY'S BAWBEE.

SIR ALEX. BOSWELL, Bart.

I MET four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hinging lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bauldy Strang,
Wha's thae I see?

Quo' he, Ilk cream-faced pawky chiel
Thought he was cunning as the deil,
And here they cam' awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.

The first, a captain to his trade,

Wi' skull ill-lined, but back weel-clad,

March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And papp'd on his knee;

Hey, the dusty miller,
And his dusty sack;
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck,—
Fills the dusty peck,

Brings the dusty siller
I wad gi'e my coatie
For the dusty miller.

FAIRLY SHOT OF HER.

From" Johnson's Museum."

OH, gin I were fairly shot o' her,
Fairly, fairly, fairly shot o' her!
Oh, gin I were fairly shot o' her!

If she were dead, I wad dance on the top o' her.

Till we were married I couldna see licht till her;
For a month after a' thing aye gaed richt wi' her;
But these ten years I hae pray'd for a wright to her—
Oh. gin I were fairly shot o' her!

Nane o' her relations or friends could stay wi' her;
The neebours and bairns are a' fain to flee frae her;
And I my ain sel' am forced to gi'e way till her—
Oh, gin I were fairly shot o' her!

She gangs aye sae braw, she's sae muckle pride in her;
There's no a gudewife in the haill country-side like till her;
Wi' dress and wi' drink, the deil wadna bide wi’ her—
Oh, gin I were fairly shot o' her!

If the time were but come that to the kirk-gate wi’ her,
And into the yird I'd mak' mysel' quit o' her,

I'd then be as bly the as first when I met wi' her-
Oh, gin I were fairly shot o' her!

This is a modern version of an old song, and is said to have been written by one John Anderson, at that time apprentice to Johnson the engraver, and publisher of the "Museum," where the song first appeared.

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WHA wadna be in love

Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder?

A piper met her gaun to Fife,

And speir'd what was't they ca'd her.

Right scornfully she answer'd him,
Begone, you hallanshaker!

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate!
My name is Maggie Lauder.

Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags,
I'm fidgin' fain to see thee;
Sit down by me, my bonnie bird,
In troth I winna steer thee;

For I'm a piper to my trade,

My name is Rob the Ranter; The lasses loup as they were daft When I blaw up my chanter.

Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order?
If ye be Rob, I've heard of you,-
Live you upo' the Border?

The lasses a', baith far and near,

Hae heard o' Rob the Ranter;
I'll shake my foot with right gude will,
Gif you'll blaw up your chanter.

Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
About the drone he twisted;
Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.
Weel done! quo' he-Play up! quo' she;
Weel bobb'd! quo' Rob the Ranter;
'Tis worth my while to play indeed
When I hae sic a dancer.

Weel hae you play'd your part, quo' Meg;
Your cheeks are like the crimson;
There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel
Since we lost Habbie Simpson.
I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter;
Gin' ye should come to Anster fair,
Speir ye for Maggie Lauder.

"This old song," says Burns, "so pregnant with Scottish naïveté and energy, is much relished by all ranks. Its language is a precious model of imitation,—sly, sprightly, and forcibly expressive. Maggie's tongue wags out the nick-names of Rob the piper with all the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety."

KISSING'S NO SIN.

ANONYMOUS. Seventeenth or eighteenth century.

SOME say that kissing's a sin;

But I think it's nane ava,

For kissing has wonn'd in this warld

Since ever that there was twa.

Oh, if it wasna lawfu',

Lawyers wadna allow it;

If it wasna holy,

Ministers wadna do it.

If it wasna modest,

Maidens wadna tak' it;

If it wasna plenty,

Puir folk wadna get it.

We are indebted to Mr. Robert Chambers for the preservation of this characteristic fragment. It was recovered by him from the singing of a friend, and first printed in 1829 in his "Historical Essay on Scottish Song."

FOR A' THAT.

ROBERT BURNS.

Is there for honest poverty

That hangs his head and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by;
We dare be puir for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,

Our toils obscure and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin' grey and a' that;

Gi'e fools their silks, an' knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that and a' that,

Their tinsel show and a' that;

The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,

Wha struts and stares and a' that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.

For a' that and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that;
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

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