Poor Tammy Gage within a cage
Was kept at Boston-ha', man;
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphia, man:

Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin
Guid Christian bluid to draw, man;
But at New-York, wi' knife an fork,
Sir Loin he hacked sma', man.

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man;
Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,
An' did the Buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save
He hung it to the wa', man.

Then Montague, an' Guilford too,
Began to fear a fa', man;

And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure,
The German Chief to thraw, man:
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,
Nae mercy had at a', man;
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box,
An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.

Then Rockingham took up the game;
Till Death did on him ca', man;
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to Gospel law, man:
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North an' Fox united stocks,

An' bore him to the wa', man.

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes, He swept the stakes awa', man,

Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race,

Led him a sair faux pas, man :

The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,
On Chatham's Boy did ca', man;
An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew,
'Up, Willie, waur them a', man!'

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,
A secret word or twa, man;
While slee Dundas arous'd the class
Be-north the Roman wa', man:
An' Chatham's wraith, in heav'nly graith,
(Inspired Bardies saw, man)

Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, 'Willie, rise!
'Would I hae fear'd them a', man!'

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co.
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,
Till Suthron raise, an' coost their claise
Behind him in a raw, man:
An' Caledon threw by the drone,

An' did her whittle draw, man;

An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood, To mak it guid in law, man.

*

SONG.

TUNE-My Nanie, O.

[This is noticed by the author as having been composed before he went to Irvine, in his twenty-third year. Be this as it may, it is the very perfection of a rustic love-song, and no after effort of his ever surpassed it in delicacy of sentiment, truthful simplicity, and beauty of versification. He well knew its merits, for in his early Scrap-Book, under date 1784, in referring to his own critical skill in distinguishing foppery and conceit from real passion and nature in loveverses, he adds, "Whether My Nanie O will stand the test, I will not pretend to say, because it is my own; only, I can say it was at the time genuine from the heart."

Annotators have in vain puzzled themselves to find a heroine for it. No doubt he had a living model, but it does not necessarily follow that her name must have been Nannie. The air is one of the divinest of Scotland's melodies, and the name "Nanie, O" being identified with it, no versifier of taste would ever dream of composing words for it which closed otherwise than with the familiar refrain. Allan Cunningham and others, from a misreading of the construction of the opening stanza, have set it down as evident that the Nannie of Burns must have dwelt in Carrick, where the Girvan and the Stinchar flow through moors and mosses: even Mrs. Begg suggested Peggy Thomson of Kirkoswald, as the charming inspirer; but when the poet, in the 7th and 8th lines, says-

"I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,

An' owre the hill to Nanie O,"

he is not referring to the "hills" of the opening line of the song. It is the "wintry sun" and not the lover who closes the day "behind yon hills where Stinchar flows." In short, the young ploughman lover, at the close of the brief winter's day, sees from Lochlea, the sun set behind the Carrick hills, and this is his signal to don his plaid and steal out to his tryste with Nannie. ]

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows,*
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, O.

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.

My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

*In 1792, the poet gave George Thomson liberty to adopt this song in his collection, and to alter the name of the river to Lugar for the sake of euphony; observing, at same time, that Girvan would better suit the idea intended.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonie, O;
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, 0; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O.

Our auld Guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

Come weel come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, 0:

Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A FRAGMENT.

[This is one of the most characteristic of all Burns' songs, although one of his earliest. In August, 1784, he sets it down in his Commonplace-Book, with some rambling remarks on "the various species of young men," whom he divides into two classes--" the grave and the merry." The former he reckons to be those who are either "goaded on by the love of money,' or else whose darling wish it is to make a figure in the world," and the latter he notes as "the jovial lads, who have too much fire and spirit to have any settled rule of action, but without much deliberation follow the strong impulses of nature."

"I do not see," he adds, "that the turn of mind and pursuits of such a one as the following verses describe,-who steals through the vale of life, amusing himself with every little flower that fortune throws in his way, is, in the least, more inimical to the sacred interests of piety and virtue: I do not see but he may gain heaven as well as he who, straining straight forward, and perhaps bespattering all about him, gains some of life's little eminences, where, after all, he can only see and be seen a little more conspicuously than he whom, in the pride of his heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil he has left behind him."]

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,*
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, 0:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

Green grow, &c.

The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, &c.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my Dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

Green grow, &c.

* Altered, in 1793, to "spent," which necessarily involves another change in

next line: "Are must then be "Were."