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.

HC VI

SONG-I DREAM'D I LAY

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.

B

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 retirèd 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!

TRAGIC FRAGMENT

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

me

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!

MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY

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.