SHE. The little swallow's wanton wing, HE. The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly. SHE. The woodbine in the dewy weet HE. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, SHE. What's a' the joys than gowd can gie! JOHN BARLEYCORN. A BALLAD. THERE was three Kings into the east, Three Kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, But the cheerfu' Spring came kindly on, John Barleycorn got up again, The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong, His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober Autumn enter'd mild, His colour sicken'd more and more, And then his enemies began To shew their deadly rage. They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 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, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, John Barleycorn was a hero bold, For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise; 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy: "Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, |