LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

BURNS. Air-" The Lothian lassie."

LAST May a braw wooer came down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

I said there was naething I hated like men :

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me ;
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked for Jean:
The Lord forgi'e me for lying, for lying;
The Lord forgi'e me for lying!

A weel-stockit mailin, himsel' for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:

I never loot on that I kend it or cared;

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers;
But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less-
The deil tak' his taste to gae near her!—

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess:

Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear her; Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her!

But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste of Dalgarnock;
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock;
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie;
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

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 0;

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 0:

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 0 ;
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 0;

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."

Он, why should old age so much wound us O?
There is nothing in't all to confound us 0;
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 0; 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 0,
By ways that were cunning or stealthy 0;
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 0,
We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies O;
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 0,
Among rich folk up and down,

Both in country and in town,

Who now live but scrimply and barely 0.

Then why should people brag of prosperity O?
A straiten'd life we see is no rarity 0;
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 cuning 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;

Quo' he, "My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my een!"
But deil a beauty he had seen
But-Jenny's bawbee.

A lawyer neist, wi' blatherin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.

Accounts he own'd through a' the town,

And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown,
But now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A Norland laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsend nag and siller whup,

Cried, "There's my beast, lad, haud the grup,

Or tie't till a tree:

What's gowd to me? I've walth o' lan';

Bestow on ane o' worth your han’.”
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

Drest up just like the knave o' clubs,
A thing came neist (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,
And jaupit a' was he :

He danced up squinting through a glass,
And grinn'd, "I' faith a bonnie lass !"
He thought to win wi' front o' brass
Jenny's bawbee.

She bade the laird gae kame his wig,
The soger no to strut sae big,

The lawyer no to be a prig;

The fool he cried, “Tehee!

I kenn'd that I could never fail !"

But she prenn'd the dishclout to his tail,

And soused him in the water-pail,

And kept her bawbee.

This song was contributed by its unfortunate author to Thomson's "Select Melodies of Scotland." Sir Alexander was the son of James Boswell, whose inimitable