Song Handsome Nell^1.
Tune “I
am a man unmarried.”
Once I lov’d a
bonie lass
Ay and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue
warms my breast
I’ll love my handsome
Nell.
As bonie lasses I hae
seen
And mony full as braw;
But for a modest gracefu’
mein
The like I never saw.
A bonie lass I will
confess
Is pleasant to the e’e;
But without some better
qualities
She’s no a lass
for me.
But Nelly’s looks
are blythe and sweet
And what is best of
a’
Her reputation is complete
And fair without a flaw.
She dresses aye sae
clean and neat
Both decent and genteel;
And then there’s
something in her gait
Gars ony dress
look weel.
A gaudy dress and gentle
air
May slightly touch the
heart;
But it’s innocence
and modesty
That polishes the dart.
’Tis this in Nelly
pleases me
’Tis this enchants
my soul;
For absolutely in my
breast
She reigns without control.
Song O Tibbie I Hae Seen The Day.
Tune “Invercauld’s
Reel or Strathspey.”
Choir. O
Tibbie I hae seen the day
Ye wadna been sae shy;
For laik o’ gear
ye lightly me
But trowth I care
na by.
Yestreen I met you on
the moor,
Ye spak na, but
gaed by like stour;
Ye geck at me because
I’m poor,
But fient a hair care
I.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
When coming hame on
Sunday last,
Upon the road as I cam
past,
Ye snufft and ga’e
your head a cast
But trowth I care’t
na by.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
I doubt na, lass,
but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name
o’ clink,
That ye can please me
at a wink,
Whene’er ye like
to try.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
But sorrow tak’
him that’s sae mean,
Altho’ his pouch
o’ coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy
quean,
That looks sae proud
and high.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
Altho’ a lad were
e’er sae smart,
If that he want the
yellow dirt,
Ye’ll cast your
head anither airt,
And answer him fu’
dry.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
But, if he hae the name
o’ gear,
Ye’ll fasten to
him like a brier,
Tho’ hardly he,
for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak’
my advice:
Your daddie’s
gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad speir
your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
There lives a lass beside
yon park,
I’d rather hae
her in her sark,
Than you wi’ a’
your thousand mark;
That gars you look
sae high.
O Tibbie, I hae seen
the day, &c.
Song I Dream’d I Lay.
I dream’d I lay
where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam;
List’ning to the
wild birds singing,
By a falling crystal
stream:
Straight the sky grew
black and daring;
Thro’ the woods
the whirlwinds rave;
Tress with aged arms
were warring,
O’er the swelling
drumlie wave.
Such was my life’s
deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I
enjoyed:
But lang or noon,
loud tempests storming
A’ my flowery
bliss destroy’d.
Tho’ fickle fortune
has deceiv’d me
She promis’d fair,
and perform’d but ill,
Of mony a joy and hope
bereav’d me
I bear a heart shall
support me still.
Song In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer.
Tune “Go
from my window, Love, do.”
The sun he is sunk in
the west,
All creatures retired
to rest,
While here I sit, all
sore beset,
With sorrow, grief,
and woe:
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
The prosperous man is
asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds
sweep;
But Misery and I must
watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
There lies the dear
partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment
at rest:
Must I see thee, my
youthful pride,
Thus brought so very
low!
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
There lie my sweet babies
in her arms;
No anxious fear their
little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my
heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
I once was by Fortune
carest:
I once could relieve
the distrest:
Now life’s poor
support, hardly earn’d
My fate will scarce
bestow:
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
No comfort, no comfort
I have!
How welcome to me were
the grave!
But then my wife and
children dear
O, wither would they
go!
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
O whither, O whither
shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken,
forlorn!
For, in this world,
Rest or Peace
I never more shall know!
And it’s O, fickle
Fortune, O!
Tragic Fragment.
All devil as I am a
damned wretch,
A hardened, stubborn,
unrepenting villain,
Still my heart melts
at human wretchedness;
And with sincere but
unavailing sighs
I view the helpless
children of distress:
With tears indignant
I behold the oppressor
Rejoicing in the honest
man’s destruction,
Whose unsubmitting heart
was all his crime.
Ev’n you, ye hapless
crew! I pity you;
Ye, whom the seeming
good think sin to pity;
Ye poor, despised, abandoned
vagabonds,
Whom Vice, as usual,
has turn’d o’er to ruin.
Oh! but for friends
and interposing Heaven,
I had been driven forth
like you forlorn,
The most detested, worthless
wretch among you!
O injured God!
Thy goodness has endow’d me
With talents passing
most of my compeers,
Which I in just proportion
have abused
As far surpassing other
common villains
As Thou in natural parts
has given me more.
Tarbolton Lasses, The.
If ye gae up to yon
hill-tap,
Ye’ll there see
bonie Peggy;
She kens her father
is a laird,
And she forsooth’s
a leddy.
There Sophy tight, a
lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Wha canna win her in
a night,
Has little art in courtin’.
Gae down by Faile, and
taste the ale,
And tak a look o’
Mysie;
She’s dour and
din, a deil within,
But aiblins she may
please ye.
If she be shy, her sister
try,
Ye’ll maybe fancy
Jenny;
If ye’ll dispense
wi’ want o’ sense
She kens hersel she’s
bonie.
As ye gae up by yon
hillside,
Speir in for bonie Bessy;
She’ll gie ye
a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address
ye.
There’s few sae
bonie, nane sae guid,
In a’ King George’
dominion;
If ye should doubt the
truth o’ this
It’s Bessy’s
ain opinion!
Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother
Dear
Paraphrase of Jeremiah,
15th Chap., 10th verse.
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,
That five per cent.
might blest me;
And borrowing, on the
tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust
me.
Yet I, a coin-denied
wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day
and night,
By lad and lass blackguarded!
Montgomerie’s Peggy.
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
Peggy.
When o’er the
hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were
dark and rainy;
I’d seek some
dell, and in my arms
I’d shelter dear
Montgomerie’s Peggy.
Were I a baron proud
and high,
And horse and servants
waiting ready;
Then a’ ‘twad
gie o’ joy to me,
The sharin’t with
Montgomerie’s Peggy.
Ploughman’s Life, The.
As I was a-wand’ring
ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman
sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin’,
thir words he did say,
There’s nae life
like the ploughman’s in the month o’ sweet
May.
The lav’rock in
the morning she’ll rise frae her nest,
And mount i’ the
air wi’ the dew on her breast,
And wi’ the merry
ploughman she’ll whistle and sing,
And at night she’ll
return to her nest back again.