BALLAD LXVII.

THE REDBREEST.

TUNE," Hallow Fair."

COME into my cabin, red Robin!
Threyce welcome, lal warbler, to me!
Now Skiddaw hes got his wheyte cap on,
Agean I'll gi' shelter to thee.

Just hop thy ways into my pantry,
And feast on my peer humble fare;
I never was fash'd wid a dainty,

But meyne, man or burd sal ay-share.

Now four years are by-geane, red Robin,
Sin furst thou com singin to me;

But, Oh, how I's chang'd, little Robin,
Sin furst I bade welcome to thee!
I then had a bonny bit lassie,
Away wid anudder she's geane;
My friens wad oft caw at my cabin,
Now dowie I seegh aw my leane.

Oh, where is thy sweetheart, red Robin ?

Ga' bring her frae house-top, or tree; I'll bid her be true to sweet Robin,

For false was a lassie to me.

You'll share ev'ry crum i' my cabin,
We'll sing the cauld winter away;
I wunnet deceive ye, peer burdies!
Let mortals use me as they may.

November, 1800.

BALLAD LXVIII.

Threescore and Nineteen.

TUNE by the Author.

Sung with great applause by MASTER T. EMLEY.

AYE, aye, I's feeble grown,
And feckless-weel I may !
I's threescwore and nineteen,
Aye, just this varra day!

I ha'e na teeth, my meat to chew,
But little sarras me!

The best thing I eat or drink,
Is just a cup o' tea!

Aye, aye, the bairns mak gam

And pleague me, suin and late;

Men fwok I like i' my heart,

But bairns and lasses hate!

This gown o' mine's lang i' the weast,
Aul-fashion'd i' the sleeve;

It meks me luik like fourscwore,
I varily believe!

Aye, aye, what I's deef,

My hearin's quite gane;

I's fash'd wi' that sad cough, aw neet,
But little I complain.

I smuik a bit, and cough a bit,
And then I try to spin;

And then I daddle to the duir,
And then I daddle in.

Aye, aye, I wonder much,

How women can get men!

I've tried for threescore years, and mair,
But never could get ane!—

Deil tek the cat! what is she at?
Lie quiet on the chair!

I thought it e'en was DANIEL STRANG,
Comin' up the stair!

Aye, aye, I've bed, and box,

And kist, and clock, and wheel,

And tub, and rock, and stuil, and pan, And chair, and dish, and reel;

And luiking-glass, and chamer-pot,
And bottles for smaw beer;

Mouse-trap, sawt-box, kettle, and-
That's DANNY sure I hear!

Aye, aye, he's young eneugh,

But, Oh! a reet neyce man!

And I wad ne'er be caul in bed,
Cou'd I but marry DAN!

Deuce tek that cough! that weary cough!

It never lets me be!

I's kilt wi' that, and gravel beath

Oh, DANIEL, come to me!

January 8, 1807.

BALLAD LXIX.

SILLY ANDREW.

TUNE," Wandering Willy."

O HOW can I get a bit weyfe? says lang Andrew, Shadric, come tell me, lad, what I mun dee;

Tou kens I's just twenty,

Ha'e houses, lans plenty,

A partner I want-ay

But nin'll ha'e me!

'Twas furst blue-e'ed Betty that meade my mouth

watter,

She darn'd my auld stockins, my crivet and aw;

Last harvest, when sheerin,

Wi' jibin and jeerin,

She fworc'd me to swearin-
Bett ne'er mair I saw !

Neist, red-headed Hannah to me seem'd an angel, And com to our house monie a neet wid her wark; yence ax'd to set her,

I

She said, she kent better !

Whea thinks te can get her?

E'en daft Symie Clark!

Then smaw-weasted Winny meade gowns for our
Jenny;

Andrew, man, stick tull her! mudder oft said;
She hes feyne sense, and money,

Young, lish, smart, and bonny,

Is a match, aye for onie.—

But she's for black Ned!

Then how can I get a bit weyfe? tell me, Shadric!
Tou mun be reet happy, they're aw fond o' thee!
I've follow'd Nan, Tibby,

Sall, Mall, Fan, and Sibby,
Ett, Luke, Doll, and Debby;
But nin'll ha'e me!