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AULD ROB MORRIS.

From the “ Tea-Table Miscellany.” Air—" Jock's the laird's brither."

MOTHER.

Auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men ;
He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too;
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo’e.

DAUGHTER.

Haud your tongue, mother, and let that abee;
For his eild and my eild can never agree :
They'll never agree, and that will be seen,
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen.

MOTHER.

Haud your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride,
For he is the bridegroom, and ye’se be the bride;
He shall lie by your side, and kiss you too;
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo’e,

DAUGHTER.

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu’ weel,
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ;
He's out-shinn'd, in-knee’d, and ringle-eyed too ;
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er lo'e.

MOTHER.

Though Auld Rob Morris be an elderly man,
Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan;
Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoe,
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.

DAUGHTER.

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae,
His back is so stiff and his beard is grown gray ;
I had rather die than live wi' him a year,
Sae mair o' Rob Morris I never will hear.

This song appears in the “ Tea-Table Miscellany” with the signature of Q, signifying it to be an old song modernised by Ramsay. Burns has written a love song with the same title, in which he has preserved the first two lines, and some other portions of the above.

THE BLAITHRIE O'T.

From the “Charmer,” 1749, but known to be much older.

WHEN I think on this warld's pelf,
And the little wee share I hae o't to myself,
And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot ;-
May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't !

Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh,
But now he's got gowd and gear enough;
He thinks nae mair o'me that wears the plaiden coat ;-
May the shame fa’ the gear and the blaithrie o't!

Jennie was the lassie that muck'd the byre,
But now she is clad in her silken attire ;
And Jockie says he lo’es her, and swears he’s me forgot ;-
May the shame fa’ the gear and the blaithrie o't !

But all this shall never daunton me,
Sae lang as I keep my fancy free;
For the lad that's sae inconstant he is not worth a groat ;-
May the shame fa’ the gear and the blaithrie o't!

SECOND VERSION.

WHEN I think on this warld's pelf,
And how little o't I hae to myself,
I sich and look down on my threadbare coat ;-
Yet the shame tak’ the gear and the baigrie o't!

Johnnie was the lad that held the pleuch,
But now he has gowd and gear eneuch ;
I mind weil the day when he was na worth a groat ;-
And the shame fa’ the gear and the baigrie o't!

Jenny was the lassie that muckit the byre,
But now she goes in her silken attire ;
And she was a lass wha wore a plaiden coat ;-
Oh, the shame fa’ the gear and the baigrie o't !

Yet a' this shall never daunton me,
Sae lang as I keep my fancy free ;
While I've but a penny to pay the t'other pot,
May the shame fa’ the gear and the baigrie o't!

THIRD VERSION.

O WILLY, weel I mind, I lent you my hand
To sing you a song which you did me command ;
But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot
That you call'd it the gear and the blaithrie o't.

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride,
I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.

Though my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on,
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;
I wad rather hae my lassie, though she cam’in her smock,
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.

Though we hae nae horses or menzie at command,
We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand;
And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot,
And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent;
Hae we less, hae we mair, we will aye be content;
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but a groat,
Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't.

I'll not meddle wi’ th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen ;
They’re nae matters for a sang,- let them sink, let them swim ;
On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote,
Sae tak’ this for the gear and the blaithrie o't.

“ The above is a set of this song,” says Burns, “ which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up every word at first hearing."

[graphic]

UP IN THE MORNIN' EARLY.*
BURNS. Air—"Cold and raw,” or “Up in the mornin' early."
CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west,

The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the mornin's no for me,

Up in the mornin' early ;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,

A’ day they fare but sparely ;
And lang's the night frae e’en to morn-
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the mornin's no for me,

Up in the mornin' early ;
When a’ the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

* The chorus of this song is old, and with the melody forms one of the earliest specimens of Scottish poetry and music. The rest of the song is founded by Burns upon the original lyric, of which it is a striking improvement. A convivial song with the same title, but in no other respect resembling it, appears in another part of this collection.

Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south,

The drift is drifting sairly;
The sheep are cowrin' i' the heuch ;

Oh, sirs, it's winter fairly !
Now up

in the mornin's no for me, Up in the mornin' early ; I'd rather gae supperless to my

bed Than rise in the mornin' early.

Loud roars the blast amang the woods,

And tirls the branches barely;
On hill and house hear how it thuds;

The frost is nipping sairly.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,

Up in the mornin' early ;
To sit a' nicht wad better agree

Than rise in the mornin' early.

The sun peeps owre yon southland hills

Like ony timorous carlie,
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again ;

And that we find severely.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,

Up in the mornin' early;
When snaw blaws in at the chimley-cheek,

Wha'd rise in the mornin' early?

Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush,

Poor things, they suffer sairly ; In cauldrife quarters a' the nicht,

A' day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,

Up in the mornin' early;
A pennyless purse I wad rather dree

Than rise in th mornin' early.

A cosie house and canty wife

Aye keep a body cheerly; And pantries stow'd wi' meat and drink,

They answer unco rarely.

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