My Crummie is a usefu' cow,
And she is come of a good kin;
Aft has she wet the bairns's mou',
And I am laith that she should tyne :
Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time,

The sun shines frae the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious end,Gae, tak' your auld cloak about ye. My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear ; But now it's scantly worth a groat,

For I hae worn't this thretty year : Let's spend the gear that we hae won, We little ken the day we'll dee; Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn To hae a new cloak about me.

In days when our king Robert rang,

His trews they cost but half-a-croun,
He said they were a groat ower dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief and loon.
He was the king that wore the croun,
And thou the man of laigh degree :
It's pride puts a' the country doun,
Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye.
Ilka land has its ain lauch,

Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool;
I think the warld has a' gane wrang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule.
Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab,
As they are girded gallantlie,
While I sit huyklin i' the asse ?—
I'll hae a new cloak about me.

Gudeman, I wat it's thretty year
Sin' we did ane anither ken,
And we hae had atween us twa

Of lads and bonnie lasses ten;

Now they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray weel may they be:
you would prove a good husband,
E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye.

If

Bell my wife she lo'es nae strife,

But she would guide me if she can ;
And to maintain an easy life,

I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman.
Nocht's to be gain'd at woman's hand,
Unless ye gi'e her a' the plea :
Then I'll leave aff where I began,

And tak' my auld cloak about me.

This is one of the most ancient Scottish songs extant. That it was known to Shakspeare in its English garb is evident from his having quoted the antepenultimate stanza in the second act of "Othello." The English version appears in Percy's "Reliques." It differs from the Scottish in some respects, but not materially; and Percy evidently inclines to admit that the Scottish is the original version. The Scottish version appears to have been first published in a complete form by Allan Ramsay, in the "Tea-Table Miscellany."

WIDOW, ARE YE WAUKIN?

ALLAN RAMSAY. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany."

"Он, wha's that at my chamber-door?"
"Fair widow, are ye waukin?"
"Auld carle, your suit give o'er,

Your love lies a' in talking.
Gi'e me a lad that's young
and tight,

Sweet like an April meadow;
'Tis sic as he can bless the sight
And bosom of a widow."

"O widow, wilt thou let me in?
I'm pawky, wise, and thrifty,
And come of a right gentle kin-
I'm little mair than fifty."
“Daft carle, ye may dicht your mouth;
What signifies how pawky

Or gentle-born ye be, bot youth,

In love you're but a gawky."

"Then, widow, let these guineas speak,
That powerfully plead clinkan ;
And if they fail, my mouth I'll steek,
And nae mair love will think on."

"These court indeed, I maun confess;
I think they make you young, sir,
And ten times better can express
Affection than your tongue, sir."

This song, somewhat similar in character to the one preceding, has been recovered from tradition, and preserved in the manuscript copy of the ancient songs of the north of Scotland collected by Peter Buchan.

JOCKEY FOU, JENNY FAIN.

From the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. Air-" Jockey fou."

JOCKEY fou, Jenny fain,

Jenny was na ill to gain;

She was couthie, he was kind,

And thus the wooer tell'd his mind :

Jenny, I'll nae mair be nice,
Gi'e me love at ony price;
I winna prig for red or white-
Love alane can gi'e delyte.

Others seek they kenna what,
In looks, in carriage, and a' that;
Gi'e me love for her I court-
Love in love makes a' the sport.

Let love sparkle in her ee,
Let her love nae man but me;
That's the tocher-gude I prize,
There the lover's treasure lies.

Colours mingled unco fine,
Common notions lang sinsyne,
Never can engage my love,

Until my fancy first approve.

Allan Ramsay inserted this song in his "Miscellany" with the signature Q, to signify that it was old, with additions by himself. The air is also very ancient.

MY WIFE HAS TA'EN THE GEE.

ANONYMOUS. From Herd's Collection, 1776.

A FRIEND O' mine cam' here yestreen,
An' he wad hae me doun

To drink a bottle o' ale wi' him

In the neist burrows toun.

But oh, indeed, it was, sir,

Sae far the waur for me;
For lang or e'er that I cam' hame
My wife had ta'en the gee.

We sat sae late and drank sae stout,
The truth I tell to you,

That lang or e'er the midnight cam',
We a' were roarin' fou.

My wife sits at the fireside,

And the tear blinds aye her ee;
The ne'er a bed wad she gang to,
But sit and tak' the gee.

In the mornin' sune, when I cam' doun,
The ne'er a word she spake,

But mony a sad and sour look,
And aye her head she'd shake.
"My dear," quo' I, "what aileth thee,
To look sae sour on me?

I'll never do the like again,

If you'll ne'er take the gee.”

When that she heard, she ran,
Her arms about my neck,
And twenty kisses in a crack,

she flang

And, poor wee thing, she grat!
"If you'll ne'er do the like again,
But bide at hame wi' me,
I'll lay my life, I'll be the wife
That never taks the gee."

THE MILLER.

SIR JOHN CLERK, of Pennycuick, Bart.; born about the year 1680, died 1755.

From the "Charmer," Edinburgh, 1751.

MERRY may the maid be

That marries the miller,

For foul day and fair day

He's aye bringing till her;
He's aye a penny in his purse

For dinner and for supper;
And gin she please, a good fat cheese
And lumps of yellow butter.

When Jamie first did woo me,

I spier'd what was his calling:
Fair maid, says he, oh, come and see;
Ye're welcome to my dwelling.
Though I was shy, yet I could spy
The truth of what he told me,

And that his house was warm and couth,
And room in it to hold me.