This is a much amended version of a song partly published by Herd: some of the old lines are not amiss: "Cock up your beaver, And cock it na wrang; Ere it be lang." Burns seems to have glanced, in the second verse, at a sarcastic song directed by the English against the Scots at the accession of the House of Stewart. The man of the south, with all the insolence of wealth, thus ques tions his northern neighbour:— "Well met, Jockie, whither away, Ha ha ha! by swect Saint Anne, Jockie is grown a gentleman. "Thy belt that was made of a white leather thong, Which thou and thy father wore so long, Are turned to hangers of velvet strong, "Thy bonnet of blue, which thou worest hither, Ha ha ha! by sweet St. Anne, This is a picture of prejudice as well as of costume. The Scotch were not insensible of the advantage of visiting their neighbours besouth the Tweed. One humble pedestrian, on reaching Lancashire, saw several bodies hanging on gibbets: he paused, and exclaimed, “God be praised! I have reached a civilized land at last-here the law is in full operation." MEIKLE THINKS MY LOVE. Tune-" My Tocher's the Jewel.” O MEIKLE thinks my I. luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; It's a' for for the hiney he'll cherish the bee; My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me. II. Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. Burns wrote these verses for the Museum to an air by Oswald: the Poet wished them to be sung to a tune called "Lord Elcho's favourite," of which he was an admirer. Readers, acquainted with the Lowlands of Scotland, may perhaps remember rustic rhymes something akin to the last four lines of this song: "I'll set her up on yon crab-tree, It's sour and dour, and so is she;- Burns had an intimate acquaintance with the quaint sayings, the curious remarks, the pithy saws, the moral adages, and the moralizing rhymes of Scotland. He introduces them often, and generally with great happiness. He usually, however, puts them into the mouth of some sage old matron, who performs, to the ardent heroine of the song, the part of "Gude Counsaill" in the old mo ralities. GANE IS THE DAY. Tune-"Gudewife count the Lawin." I. GANE is the day, and mirk's the night, Then gudewife count the lawin, II. There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, And simple folk maun fight and fen ; For ilka man that's drunk 's a lord. III. My coggie is a haly pool, That heals the wounds o' care and dool; And pleasure is a wanton trout, An' ye drink but deep ye'll find him out. Then gudewife count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin; Then gudewife count the lawin, And bring a coggie mair! THE POEMS OF ROBERT Burns. 191 Burns supplied the air as well as the words of this song to the Museum. Where he found the former he has neglected to tell us: with respect to the latter, he says in his notes, "The chorus of this is part of an old song, one stanza of which I recollect : 'Every day my wife tells me That ale and brandy will ruin me; O gudewife count the lawin, Other verses of the old ditty still linger in the land-they are not more than decorous. I once heard an antiquarian say that no sincerely joyous songs had been written since the Reformation. "Todlen Hame" is certainly a later composition; some of the verses cannot be easily matched :— "When I hae saxpence under my thumb, Then I'll get credit in ilka town; But ay when I'm poor they bid me gang by O! poverty parts good company. Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow Ye're ay sae good-humoured when weeting your mou'; When sober ye're sour, and wad fight with a flie, That 'tis ay a blythe sight to the bairns and me, When todlen hame, todlen hame, When round as a neep ye come todlen hame." |