O WERE my Love yon lilac fair,    Wi’ purple blossoms to the spri… And I a bird to shelter there,    When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn

GUDEWIFE, I MIND it weel in… When I was bardless, young, and b… An’ first could thresh the barn, Or haud a yokin’ at the pleugh; An, tho’ forfoughten sair eneugh,

Tune —“Galla Water.” 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 Pegg…

THOU flatt’ring mark of friendsh… Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor; Tho’ sweetly female ev’ry part, Yet such a head, and more the hear…

STRAIT is the spot and green th… From whence my sorrows flow; And soundly sleeps the ever dear Inhabitant below. Pardon my transport, gentle shade,

The Couper o’ Cuddy came here awa… He ca’d the girrs out o’er us a’; An’ our gudewife has gotten a ca’, That’s anger’d the silly gudeman… We’ll hide the Couper behint the…

Ah, 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…

It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed

O HAD each Scot of ancient times Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art; The bravest heart on English grou… Had yielded like a coward.

O THOU who kindly dost provide For every creature’s want! We bless Thee, God of Nature wid… For all Thy goodness lent: And if it please Thee, Heavenly…

Chorus.'€”MY lady’s gown, there’s… And gowden flowers sae rare upon’t… But Jenny’s jimps and jirkinet, My lord thinks meikle mair upon’t. My lord a-hunting he is gone,

AS father Adam first was fool’d, (A case that’s still too common,) Here lies man a woman ruled, The devil ruled the woman.

O THOU whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turnèd out of door… Heard’st thou yon groan?—proceed n… ’Twas laurel’d Martial calling mu…

O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline… Ye’re safer at your spinning-wheel… Such witching books are baited hoo… For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgi… Your fine Tom Jones and Grandiso…

This day, Time winds th’ exhauste… To run the twelvemonth’s length ag… I see, the old bald-pated fellow, With ardent eyes, complexion sallo… Adjust the unimpair’d machine,