An', by my saul, they're nae wrang gear
To gust a stirrah's mow;

Weel staw'd wi' them, he'll never spear

The price of being fu'

Wi' drink that day.

Now wyly wights at rowly powl,1

An' flingin' o' the dice,

Here brake the banes o' mony a soul,

Wi' fa's upo' the ice:

At first the gate seems fair an' straught,
So they had fairly till her;

But wow! in spite o' a' their maught,
They're rookit o' their siller

An' goud that day.

Around whare'er ye fling your een,
The haiks like wind are scourin';
Some chaises honest folk contain,

An' some hae mony a whore in ;
Wi' rose and lily, red and white,
They gie themselves sic fit airs,
Like Dian, they will seem perfite;
But its nae goud that glitters

Wi' them thir days.

1 The game otherwise called 'Ninepins,' which forms the subject of one of Geikie's admirable etchings, No. 58, and which, along with Nos. 62 and 63, Leith Races,' well illustrates the present poem. Vedder graphically describes a hero engaged in the game:

A burly loon, wi' sweeping straikes,
Is thrang at rowly powly,
Clearing a buird o' gingbread cakes

Frae a wee dindy cowly.

He rattles till the grund a' shakes,
(He's seen by his sweet Molly :)

What tho' his pouch be cleared o' maiks,

Fools maun pay for their folly

The lyon here, wi' open paw,

May cleek in mony hunder,

Wha geck at Scotland and her law,
His wyly talons under;

For ken, tho' Jamie's laws are auld,
(Thanks to the wise recorder),
His lyon yet roars loud and bauld,
To had the Whigs in order

Sae prime this day.

To town-guard drum of clangor clear,
Baith men and steeds are raingit;
Some liveries red or yellow wear,
And some are tartan spraingit:
And now the red, the blue e'en-now
Bids fairest for the market;
But, 'ere the sport be done, I trow
Their skins are gayly yarkit

And peel'd thir days.

Siclike in Robinhood1 debates,
Whan twa chiels hae a pingle;
E'en-now some couli2 gets his aits,

An' dirt wi' words they mingle,

Till up loups he, wi' diction fu',

There's lang and dreech contesting;

For now they're near the point in view;
Now ten miles frae the question
In hand that night.

The races o'er, they hale the dools,

Wi' drink o' a' kin-kind;

1 See note 3, p. 49.

2 A collegian [student], a member of the University.-Communicated by Mr. Robert Burns, Secundus. Spoken usually of any one in contempt.

Great feck gae hirpling hame like fools,

The cripple lead the blind.

May ne'er the canker o' the drink
E'er make our spirits thrawart,
'Case we git wharewitha' to wink
Wi' een as blue's a blawart

Wi' straiks thir days!

HALLOWFAIR.

TUNE-"Fy let us a' to the Bridal."

[This humorous ballad-song, like the 'Lea-rig,' had long been fugitively ascribed to Fergusson, when Mr. Stenhouse, in his Notes to Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, 451, p. 472 sq. Note, p. 399 sq. Vol. V., assigned it positively to him, on the authority (it is understood) of Mr. David Herd, who only died in 1810. It was originally written for Mr. Herd, and was published posthumously in the well-known Collection of 'Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc.' 2 Vols. 12mo, 1776. Vol. II. p. 169–171.

Hallowfair is adapted in the Museum to an old tune called 'Wally Honey,' taken from Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion. Book VII. p. 6. The reader may compare the 'Song' with the 'Poem' of Hallowfair (ante, p. 33 sq.)]

THERE'S fouth of braw Jockies and Jennies

Comes weel-busked into the fair,

With ribbons on their cockernonies,

And fouth o' fine flour on their hair.1

Maggie she was sae well busked,
That Willie was ty'd to his bride;
The pounie was ne'er better whisked
Wi' cudgel that hang frae his side.
Sing farrel, &c.

1 Which was then in fashion.

But Maggie was wondrous jealous
To see Willie busked sae braw;
And Sawney he sat in the alehouse,

And hard at the liquor did caw.
There was Geordy that well loo'd his lassie,
He touk the pint-stoup in his arms,

And hugg'd it, and said, trouth they're saucy
That loos nae a good father's bairn.
Sing farrel, &c.

There was Wattie the muirland laddie,
That rides on the bonny grey cout,
With sword by his side like a cadie, 1

To drive in the sheep and the knout.
His doublet sae weel it did fit him,

It scarcely came down to mid thigh,
With hair pouther'd, hatt, and a feather,
And housing at courpon and tee. 2
Sing farrel, &c.

But bruckie play'd boo to bausie, 3
And aff scour'd the cout like the win:

Poor Wattie he fell in the causie,

And birs'd a' the bains in his skin.

His pistols fell out of the houlsters,
And were a' bedaubed with dirt;

The folks they came round him in clusters,
Some leugh, and cry'd, Lad was you hurt?
Sing farrel, &c.

1 One who gains a livelihood by running errands.-See Jamieson in loc. 2 The horse-furniture at the crupper and the nose and head.

3 Id est-The brucket or cow with brown spots bellowed to bausic, which is applied to a fat sleek animal-the noise they made, frightened the cout or horse.

But cout wad let nae body steer him,

He was ay sae wanton and skeegh; The packman's stands he o'erturn'd them, And gar'd a' the Jocks stand a-beech; Wi' sniring behind and before him, For sic is the metal of brutes: Poor Wattie, and wae's me for him, Was fain to gang hame in his boots. Sing farrel, &c.

Now it was late in the ev’ning,

And boughting-time was drawing near; The lasses had stench'd their greening With fouth of braw apples and beer. There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie, And Ceicy on the spinnell could spin, Stood glowring at signs and glass winnocks, But deil a ane bade them come in. Sing farrel, &c.

God guide's! saw you ever the like o' it?
See yonder's a bonny black swan;
It glowrs as't wad fain be at us;
What's yon that it hads in its hands?
Awa', daft gouk, cries Wattie,

They're a' but a rickle of sticks;

See there is Bill, Jock, and auld Hackie, And yonder's Mess John and auld Nick. Sing farrel, &c.

Quoth Maggie, come buy us our fairing;
And Wattie right sleely cou'd tell,
I think thou're the flower of the claughing
In trouth now I'se gie you my sell.