Air-"A cogie of yill," composed by Robert Macintosh, who died in London in 1807.

A COGIE O' yill,

And a pickle aitmeal,

And a dainty wee drappie o' whisky,

Was our forefathers' dose

For to sweel down their brose,

And keep them aye cheery and frisky.

Then hey for the whisky, and hey for the meal,
And hey for the cogie, and hey for the yill;
Gin ye steer a' thegither, they'll do unco weel
To keep a chiel cheery and brisk aye.

When I see our Scots lads,

Wi' their kilts and cockauds,

That sae aften hae lounder'd our foes, man;

I think to mysel'

On the meal and the yill,

And the fruits o' our Scottish kail-brose, man.

Then hey,
&c.

When our brave Highland blades,

Wi' their claymores and plaids,

In the field drive like sheep a' our foes, man;

Their courage and power

Spring frae this to be sure,

They're the noble effects o' the brose, man.
Then hey, &c.

But your spindle-shank'd sparks,

Wha sae ill fill their sarks,

Your pale-visaged milk-sops and beaux, man;
I think when I see them,

"Twere kindness to gi'e them

A cogie o' yill or o' brose, man.
Then hey, &c.

What John Bull despises,
Our better sense prizes,

He denies eatin' blanter ava, man;
But by eatin' o' blanter,

His mare's grown, I'll warrant her,
The manliest brute o' the twa, man.
Then hey, &c.

THE DRUCKEN WIFE O' GALLOWAY.

From Herd's Collection. Air-" Hooly and fairly."

DOUN in yon meadow a couple did tarry:

The gudewife she drank naething but sack and canary; The gudeman complain'd to her friends richt earlyOh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly,

Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

First she drank Crummie, and syne she drank Gairie, And syne she drank my bonny grey marie,

That carried me through a' the dubs and the glairie-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

She drank her hose, she drank her shoon,
And syne she drank her bonnie new goun;
She drank her sark that cover'd her rarely-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

Wad she drink but her ain things I wadna care,
But she drinks my claes that I canna weel spare;
When I'm wi' my gossips it angers me sairly-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

My Sunday's coat, she's laid it in wad,
And the best blue bonnet was e'er on my head;
At kirk or at mercat I'm cover'd but barely-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

My bonny white mittens I wore on my hands,
Wi' her neibour's wife she had laid them in pawns;
My bane-headed staff that I looed sae dearly—
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

I never was for wranglin' nor strife,

Nor did I deny her the comforts of life;
For when there's a war I'm aye for a parly—
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

When there's ony money she maun keep the purse,
If I seek but a bawbee she'll scold and she'll curse;
She lives like a queen, I but scrimpit and sparely—
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow;
But when she sits down, oh, the jaud she gets fou,
And when she is fou she is unco camstarie-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

When she comes to the street she roars and rants,

Has nae fear o' her neibours, nor minds the house-wants;
She rants up some fule-sang, like, Up your heart, Charlie!—
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

When she comes hame she lays on the lads,
The lasses she ca's baith bitches an' jauds,
An' ca's mysell an auld cuckol-carlie-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty frien',
And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak' a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

This world-renowned song is always included among the songs of Robert Burns. He did not himself claim the authorship of it. In a letter to Thomson, he says: "One song more, and I have done. 'Auld lang syne!' The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print or even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air."-"Light be the turf," he says in another letter, "on the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment!" The air to which the song is now universally sung is not the one which Burns thought so little of, but another, of which the author is quite unknown, but which appears to have belonged to the Roman Catholic Church, and to England quite as much as to Scotland. Several other cathedral chants, of which the authorship is claimed for English music, may be mentioned; more especially the air known as "John, come kiss me now," and "We're all noddin'," both of which are unmistakeably English. It is curious to reflect that the most popular song ever written in these islands, that of "Auld lang syne," is anonymous; and that we know no more of the author of the music than we do of the author of the words. It is equally curious to reflect that so much of Burns's great fame rests upon this song, in which his share amounts only to a few emendations.

OH, GUDE ALE COMES.

From "Johnson's Musical Museum," altered by Burns from an older song. Air-"The bottom of the punch-bowl."

Oш, gude ale comes, and gude ale goes;

Gude ale gars me sell my hose,

Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon ;
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.

I had sax owsen in a pleuch,

And they drew teuch and weel eneuch:
I drank them a' just ane by ane;
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.