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Fy let us a' to the bridal,

For there will be lilting there;
For Jockie's to be marry'd to Maggie,

The lass wi' the gouden hair.
And there will be lang-kail and pottage,

And bannocks of barley meal,
And there will be good saut herring,
To relish a cog of good ale.
Fy let us a' to the bridal.

For there will be lilting there,
For Jockie's to be marry'd to Maggie,

The lass wi' the gouden hair.

And there will be Sandie the sutor,

And Will wi' the meikle mou; And there will be Tam the blutter,

Wi' Andrew the tinkler, I trow; And there will be bow'd-legged Robbie,

Wi' thumbless Kattie's goodman; And there will be blue-cheeked Dobbie, And Lawrie the laird of the land.

Fy let us a', &c.

And there will be sow-libber Patie,

Aud ploukie-fac'd Wat in the mill, Capper-nos'd Francie, and Gibbie,

That wons in the how of the hill;
And there will be Alaster Sibbie,

Wha in wi' black Bessie did mool,
Wi' snivelling Lilly and Tibby,
The lass that stands aft on the stool.

Fy let us a', foc.

And Madge that was buckled to Steenie,

And coft him grey breeks to his arse, Wha after was hangit for stealing,

Great mercy it happen'd na warse :

And there will be gleed Geordy Janners,

And Kirsh wi' the lily-white leg, Wha gade to the south for manners, And bang'd up her wame in Mons-meg,

Fy let us a', &c.

And there will be Judan Maclawrie,

And blinking daft Barbara Macleg, Wi' fae-lugged sharny-fac'd Lawrie,

And shangy-mou'd halucket Meg. And there will be happer-ars'd Nansy,

And fairy-fac'd Flowrie by name,
Muck Madie, and fat-hippit Grisy,
The lass wi' the gowden wame.

Fy let us a', &e.
And there will be girn-again Gibbie,

Wi' his glakit wife, Jenny Bell,
And misle-shinn’d Mungo Macapie,

The lad that was skipper himsel. Tbere lads and lasses in pearlings

Will feast in the heart of the ha', On sybows, and rifarts, and carlings, That are baith sodden and raw.

Fy let us a', &c.

And there will be fadges and brachen,

With fowth of good gabbocks of skate,
Powsowdie, and drammock, and crowdy,

And caller nowt-feet in a plate;
And there will be partans and buckies,

And whytens and speldens enew,
Wi’ sing'd sheep-heads, and a haggies,
And scadlips to sup till ye spew.

Fy let us a', &c. And there will be lapper'd-milk kebbucks,

And sowens, and farles, and baps, Wi' swats, and well-scraped paunches,

And brandy in stoups and in caps:

And there will be meal-kail and tastocks,

And skink to sup till ye rive;
And roasts to roast on a brander
Of flowks that were taken alive.

Fy let us a', &c.
Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle,

And a mill of good sneeshing to prie;
When weary with eating and drinking,
We'll rise up and dance till we die.
Fy let us a' to the bridal,

For there will be lilting there;
For Jockie's to be marry'd to Maggic,
The lass wi' the gouden hair.

Francis Sempill.


What beauties does Flora disclose ?

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed? Yet Mary's still sweeter than those ;

Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,

Not all the gay flowers of the field,
Not Tweed, gliding gently through those,

Such beauty and pleasure does yield,

The warblers are heard in the grove,

The linnęt, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove,

With music enchant every bush, Come, let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love while the feather'd folks sing, How does my love pass the long day?

Does Mary not tend a few sheep?" " Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep?***

Tweed's murmers should lull her to rest;

Kind nature indulging my bliss,
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces around her do dwell,

She's fairest, where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ?

Oh! tell me at noon where they feed; Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed ?

Robert Crawfurdo

Love never more shall give me pain,

My fancy's fixed on thee;
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,

My Peggy, if thou die.
Thy beauty doth such pleasure give,

Thy love's so true to me;
Without thee I shall never live,

My dearie, if thou die.

If fate shall tear thee from my breast,

How shall I lonely stray!
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,

In sighs, the silent day.
I ne'er can so much virtue find,

Nor such perfection see;
Then I'll renounce all woinankind,
My Peggy, after thee,

No new-blown beauty fires my heart

With Cupid's raving rage,
But thine, which can such sweets impart,

Must all the world engage.


'Twas this, that like the morning sun,

Gave joy and life to me;
And when its destined day is done,

With Peggy let me die.

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,

And in such pleasure share'; *
You who its faithful flames approve,

With pity view the fair;
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms,

Those charms so dear to me;
Oh! never rob me from those arms;
I'm lost if Peggy die.

Robert Crawfurd. mnmnun WILLY WAS A WANTON WAG.

Willy was a wanton wag,

The blythest lad that e'er I saw, At bridals still he bore the brag,

And carried aye the gree awa: His doublet was of Zetland shag,

And wow! but Willy he was braw, And at his shoulder hang a tag,

That pleas’d the lasses best of a'.

He was a man without a clag,

His heart was frank without a flaw;
And aye whatever Willy said,

It was still hauden as a law,
His boots they were made of the jag ;

When he went to the weapon-shaw,
Upon the green nane durst him brag,

The seind a ane amang them a'.

And was not Willy weel worth gowd?

He wan the love of great and sma'; For after he the bride had kiss'd,

He kiss'd the lasses hale-sale a':

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