I speir'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, And how my auld shoon fitted her shachlet feet; He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, 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 O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spent There's nought but care on ev'ry han', Green grow, &c. The warly race may riches chase, An' though at last they catch them fast, Green grow, &c. Gi'e me a canny hour at e'en, May a' gae tapsalteerie O. Green grow. &c. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Green grow, &c. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 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." OH, why should old age so much wound us O? 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 O; 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, And we are so to this hour, Yet we never pined nor lamented O. ; We ne'er thought of schemes to be wealthy O, And what further could we wiss ? To be pleased with ourselves and be healthy O. What though we canna boast of our guineas O, We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies 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, Both in country and in town, Who now live but scrimply and barely O. ; Then why should people brag of prosperity O? A straiten'd life we see is no rarity O; 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, 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, Quo' he, Ilk cream-faced pawky chiel The first, a captain to his trade, Wi' skull ill-lined, but back weel-clad, March'd round the barn and by the shed, Hey, the dusty miller, Brings the dusty siller FAIRLY SHOT OF HER. From "Johnson's Museum." Он, gin I were fairly shot o' her, If she were dead, I wad dance on the top o' her. Till we were married I couldna see licht till her; Nane o' her relations or friends could stay wi' her; She gangs aye sae braw, she's sae muckle pride in her; If the time were but come that to the kirk-gate wi' her, I'd then be as bly the as first when I met wi' her— This is a modern version of an old song, and is said to have been written by one John Anderson, at that time apprentice to Johnson the engraver, and publisher of the "Museum," where the song first appeared. WHA wadna be in love Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder? A piper met her gaun to Fife, And speir'd what was't they ca'd her. Right scornfully she answer'd him, Begone, you hallanshaker! Jog on your gate, you bladderskate! Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags, For I'm a piper to my trade, My name is Rob the Ranter; The lasses loup as they were daft When I blaw up my chanter. Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags, |