Wha follows ony saucy quean, That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, If that he want the yellow dirt, Ye'll cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu' dry.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.
But, if he hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, Be better than the kye.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice: Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; The deil a ane wad speir your price, Were ye as poor as I.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.
There lives a lass beside yon park, I'd rather hae her in her sark, Than you wi' a' your thousand mark; That gars you look sae high.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.
I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam;
List'ning to the wild birds singing,
By a falling crystal stream:
Straight the sky grew black and daring;
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;
Trees with agèd arms were warring, O'er the swelling drumlie wave.
Such was my life's deceitful morning, Such the pleasures I enjoyed:
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me-
She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill, Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me- I bear a heart shall support me still.
SONG IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED FARMER
Tune-" Go from my window, Love, do."
THE sun he is sunk in the west, All creatures retired to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep; But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lies the dear partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment at rest:
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lie my sweet babies in her arms; No anxious fear their little hearts alarms; But for their sake my heart does ache, With many a bitter throe: And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
I once was by Fortune carest: I once could relieve the distrest: Now life's poor súpport, hardly earn'd, My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
No comfort, no comfort I have! How welcome to me were the grave! But then my wife and children dear- O, whither would they go!. And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
O whither, O whither shall I turn! All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! For, in this world, Rest or Peace I never more shall know! And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
ALL villian as I am—a damnèd wretch, A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting sinner, Still my heart melts at human wretchedness; And with sincere but unavailing sighs
I view the helpless children of distress: With tears indignant I behold the oppressor Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.— Ev'n you, ye hapless crew! I pity you; Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds, Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin. Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven, I had been driven forth like you forlorn, The most detested, worthless wretch among you!
O injured God! Thy goodness has endow'd
AH, WOE IS ME, MY MOTHER DEAR
Paraphrase of Jeremiah, 15th Chap., 10th verse. Ан, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me: For sair contention I maun bear; They hate, revile, and scorn me.
I ne'er could lend on bill or band, That five per cent. might blest me; And borrowing, on the tither hand, The deil a ane wad trust me.
Yet I, a coin-denied wight, By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night, By lad and lass blackguarded!
ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie; Yet happy, happy would I be,
Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.
When o'er the hill beat surly storms, And winter nights were dark and rainy; I'd seek some dell, and in my arms I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.
Were I a baron proud and high,
And horse and servants waiting ready; Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,—
The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy.
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