Wishfully I look and languish
In that bonny face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,

Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine!

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.
TUNE-The Braes o' Ballochmyle.

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decayed on Catrine lea,
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But Nature sickened on the ee.
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile;
Fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr,

Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.
TUNE-O mount and go.

CHORUS.

On mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;
Oh mount and go,

And be the captain's lady.

When the drums do beat,
And the cannons rattle,
Thou shall sit in state,
And see thy love in battle.
When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.

THE CARDIN' O'T.

TUNE-Salt-fish and Dumplings.

I COFT a stane o' haslock woo',
To make a wat to Johnny o't;
For Johnny is my only jo,
I loe him best of ony yet.
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,
The warpin o't, the winnin' o't;
When ilka ell cost me a groat,

The tailor staw the lynin o't.
For though his locks be lyart grey,
And tho' his brow be beld aboon;

Yet I hae seen him on a day,

The pride of a' the parishen.

THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN

BRAES.

TUNE-Kellyburn Braes.

THERE lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) And he had a wife was the plague o' his days; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme, He met wi' the devil; says, "How do you fen ?"

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

"I've got a bad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint;

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."

"It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."

"Oh, welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) "But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd,

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."

The devil has got the auld wife on his back; (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door; (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) Syne bade her gae in, for a b―h and a we And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) Whae'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

A reekit wee devil looks over the wa';

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) "Oh, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a', And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."

The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) He pitied the man that was tied to a wife; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) He was not in wedlock, thank Heav'n, but in hell;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

Then Satan has travelled again wi' his pack; (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) And to her auld husband he's carried her back;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

"I hae been a devil the feck o' my life; (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."