I speir'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin',

And how my auld shoon fitted her shachlet feet;
But heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin';
But heavens! how he fell a swearin'!

He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I would kill him wi' sorrow;

So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow; I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES O!

BURNS.

GREEN grow the rashes O,

Green grow the rashes O;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Were spent among the lasses O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes (:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses O?

Green grow, &c.

The warly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them 0;

An' though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O.

Green grow, &c.

Gi'e me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie ();
An' warly cares an warly men

May a' gae tapsalteerie O.

Green grow. &c.

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses 0;
The wisest man the world e'er saw
He dearly lo'ed the lasses O.

Green grow, &c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes (;
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses O.

Green grow, &c.

Founded on an old and licentious song with the same chorus.

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.

REV. JOHN SKINNER. Air-" Dumbarton's drums."

OH, why should old age so much wound us O?
There is nothing in't all to confound us ();
For how happy am I,

With my old wife sitting by,

And our bairns and our oes all around us O!

We began in the world wi' naething O,

And we've jogg'd on and toil'd for the ae thing O; We made use of what we had,

And our thankful hearts were glad

When we got the bit meat and the claething O.

We have lived all our lifetime contented O,
Since the day we became first acquainted O
It's true we've been but poor,

And we are so to this hour,

Yet we never pined nor lamented O.

;

We ne'er thought of schemes to be wealthy O,
By ways that were cunning or stealthy O;
But we always had the bliss—

And what further could we wiss ?

To be pleased with ourselves and be healthy O.

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."

Он, 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 ber-
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.

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?