Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;
I'll ne'er submit again to it—
So mind you that-before folk.

Ye tell me that my face is fair;
It may be sae, I dinna care;
But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair
As ye hae done before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk;

Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks,
But aye be douce before folk.

Ye tell me that my lips are sweet;
Sic tales I doubt are a' deceit;

At ony rate, it's hardly meet

To pree their sweets before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;

Gin that's the case there's time and place,
But surely no before folk.

But gin you really do insist

That I should suffer to be kiss'd,
Gae get a license frae the priest,
And mak' me yours before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel❜ before folk;

And when we're ane baith flesh and bane,

Ye may tak' ten before folk.

From "Whistle Binkie, or the Piper of the Party; a Collection of Songs for the Social Circle"-a very interesting series of modern songs, edited by Alexander Rodger, and published by David Robertson of Glasgow, between the years 1832 and 1846. This work, from which we have copied, with the kind permission of the late Mr. Robertson, the admirable songs of Rodger and others, contains some hundreds of songs, mostly original, which present, in the words of the preface to the collected edition published in 1846, "a remarkable instance of the universality of that peculiar talent for song-writing for which the natives of Scotland have always been distinguished.

THE

ANSWER TO "BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK."

ALEXANDER RODGER. From "Whistle Binkie."

CAN I behave, can I behave,

Can I behave before folk,

When wily elf, your sleeky self,
Gars me gang gyte before folk?

In a' ye do, in a' ye say,

Ye've sic a pawkie coaxing way,
wits ye lead astray,

That my poor
An' ding me doilt before folk.
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk;
While ye ensnare, can I forbear
A kissing ye before folk?

Can I behold that dimpling cheek,

Whar love 'mang sunny smiles might beek,

Yet howlet-like my eelids steek,

And shun sic light before folk?

Can I behave, can I behave,

Can I behave before folk,
When ilka smile becomes a wile,
Enticing me before folk?

That lip, like Eve's forbidden fruit,

Sweet, plump, an' ripe, sae tempts me t'ot,
That I maun pree't, though I should rue't,

Ay twenty times before folk!

Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When temptingly it offers me
So rich a treat before folk?

That gowden hair sae sunny bright,
That shapely neck o' snowy white;
That tongue, e'en when it tries to flyte,
Provokes me till't before folk!

Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,

When ilka charm, young, fresh, and warm,
Cries," Kiss me now!" before folk?

An', oh, that pawkie, rowin ee,
Sae roguishly it blinks on me,
I canna, for my soul, let he
Frae kissing you before folk!
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When ilka glint conveys a hint
To tak a smack before folk?

Ye own that were we baith our lane,
Ye wadna grudge to grant me ane;
Weel, gin there be no harm in't then,
What harm is in't before folk?
Can I behave, can I behave,

Can I behave before folk?
Sly hypocrite, an anchorite

Could scarce desist before folk!

But after a' that has been said,
Since ye are willing to be wed,

We'll hae a "blythesome bridal" made,
When ye'll be mine before folk.
Then I'll behave, then I'll behave,
Then I'll behave before folk;

For whereas then ye'll aft get ten,
It winna be before folk.

JEANIE MORRISON.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, horn 1797, died 1835.

I'VE wander'd east, I've wander'd west,
Through mony a weary way!

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day.

The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond love grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years

Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears!
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blythe blinks o' langsyne.

"Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,

'Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at schule,

Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

"Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remember'd evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof,

What our wee heads could think! When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the schule-weans laughin' said,

We cleek'd thegither hame?

And mind ye o' the Saturdays

(The schule then skail't at noon),

When we ran aff to speel the braes—
The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,

As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' schule-time and o' thee.
O mornin' life! O mornin' luve!
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts,
Like simmer blossoms, sprang!

Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its water croon ?

The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wud
The throssil whusslit sweet.

The throssil whusslit in the wud,
The burn sung to the trees,
And we, with Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonies;

And on the knowe abune the burn

For hours thegither sat
In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat.

Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled down your check,
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!
That was a time, a blessed time,

When hearts were fresh and young,
When freely gush'd all feelings forth,
Unsyllabled-unsung!

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me!