I've thought and thought, sin I kent ought,

Content's the greatest blessin,

And he that seizes my bit lan
Desarves a guid sound dressin.

AULD ENGLAND, though we count thy fau'ts,

For ever we'll defend thee!

To foreign tyrants sud we bow,

They'll mar, but niver mend thee.

December 20, 1803,

BALLAD XXXVII.

GRIZZY.

TUNE,-"My auld guidman.”

THE witch weyfe begg'd in our backseyde*,
But went unsarra'd away i' th' pet;

Our Ester kurn'd at e'er she kurn'd,

But butter the deuce a crum cou'd get.

The pez-stack fell, and crush'd my fadder;
My mudder cowp'd owre, and leam'd hersel;
Neist, war and war, what dud we see,

But Jenny' pet lam drown'd i' the well.

Auld Grizzy the witch*, as some fwok say, Meks paddock-rud ointment for sair een, And cures the tuith-wark wi' a charm,

Of hard words neane ken what they mean.

She milks the kye, the urchin's bleam'd;

She bleets the cworn wi' her bad e'e; When cross'd by lasses, they pruive wi' bairn, And if she grummel, they're seafe o' twee.

I yence sweethearted Madge o' th' mill,
And whea sae thick as she and I;
Auld Whang he promis'd tweescore pun,
A weel-theek'd house, and bit of a stye;
Ae neet we met at our croft head,

But Grizzy was daund'ring aw her leane,
And scarce a week o' days were owre,
Till Madge to kurk Wull Weer had teane.

When deef Dick Maudlin last his weyfe,
And said 'twas weel it was nae war;
When Jerry' black filly pick'd the fwoal,
And hawf-blin Calep fell owre the scar;

When manten Marget brunt her rock;
When smuggler Mat was lost i' the snaw;
When wheezlin Wully was set i' the stocks;
Auld Grizzy aye gat the weyte of aw.

ར་་་་་་་་་་

*See Note XXXIX.

Her feace is like the stump of a yek;

She stoops and stowters, sheks and walks; Bleer-e'e'd and tuithless, wi' a beard :

She coughs and granes, and mumps and talks;

She lives in a shill-house, burns dried sticks,

And there hes dealins wi' the de'il.

O war she whietly in her grave,

For where she bides few can dui weel.

February 3, 1803.

BALLAD XXXVIII.

GWORDIE GILL.

TUNE," Andrew wi' his cutty gun."

OF aw the lads I see or ken,

There's yen I like abuin the rest;

He's neycer in his war day duds,

Than others donn'd in aw their best.

A body's heart's a body's awn,

And they may gi'e't to whea they will; Had I got ten where I ha'e neane,

I'd gi'e them aw to Gwordie Gill.

Whea was't that brak our lanlword' garth *,
For me, when bairns we went to schuil?
Whea was't durst venture mid-thie deep,
To get my clog out o' the puil?

And when the filly flaug me off,

And lang and lang I laid sae ill,

Whea was't gowl'd owre me day and neet,

And wish'd me weel? 'Twas Gwordie Gill.

Oft mounted on his lang-tail'd naig,
Wi' feyne new buits up till his knee,
The laird's daft son leets i' the faul,

And keaves as he wad wurry me;

Tho' fadder, mudder, uncle tui,

To wed this maz'lin teaze me still,

I hear of aw his lan and brass,

But oft steal out to Gwordie Gill.

Frae Carel cousin Fanny com,

And brong her whey-feac'd sweetheart down, Wi' sark-neck stuck abuin his lugs,

A peer clipt dinment frae the town:

He minc'd and talk'd, and skipp'd and walk'd,
But tir'd a gangin up the hill,

And luik'd as pale as onie corp,
Compar'd to rwosie Gordie Gill.

* See Note XL.

My Gwordi's whussle weel I ken*,
Lang ere we meet, the darkest neet;
And when he lilts and sings Skewball,
Nit playhouse music's hawf sae sweet.
A body's heart's a body's awn,

I

And they may gi'e't to whea they will; yence had yen, now I ha'e neane,

For it belangs to Gwordie Gill.

February 10, 1804.

BALLAD XXXIX.

A Weyfe for Wully Miller.

TUNE,-" Maggy Lawder."

HOUT, Wully, lad! cock up thy head,

Nor fash thysel about her;

Nought comes o' nought, sae tek nae thought,
Tou's better far widout her.

Peer man! her fadder weel we ken,
He's but an as-buird meaker;
But she's town-bred, and, silly gowk!
Thou'd gi'e thy teeth to teake her.

*See Note XLI.