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The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse;
The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
I once was persuaded a venture to make;
"Life's cares they are comforts -a maxim laid down By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair,
A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,
And honours masonic prepare for to throw;
May ev'ry true Brother of the Compass and Square
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER
Tune-" The weaver and his shuttle, O."
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O;
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O: Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O.
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O;
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.
Then sore harass'd and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O;
The past was bad, and the future hid, its good or ill untried, O;
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me, O;
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O;
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace, O, Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O:
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O:
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O,
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O:
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O.
JOHN BARLEYCORN: A BALLAD
THERE was three kings into the east,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
The sultry suns of Summer came,
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
They filled up a darksome pit
They laid him out upon the floor,
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And still the more and more they drank,
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE
AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE
As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,