Thou lav'rock' that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 1 lark. A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, Our toils obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that : The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie 3, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, His riband, star, and a' that, coarse woollen cloth. conceited fellow. • blockhead. A prince can mak a belted knight, Their dignities and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Then let us pray that come it may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that; ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind? Thou tells o' never-ending care; THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE Tune-'This is no my ain House.' This is no my ain lassie, I see a form, I see a face, She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall, The kind love that's in her e'e. A thief sae pawkie1 is my Jean, It may escape the courtly sparks, 1 cunning. 8 quick. LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. Tune The Lothian Lassie.' Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een, I said he might die when he liket for Jean: A weel-stocked mailen1, himsel for the laird, I never loot on 2 that I kenned it, or cared; But thought I might hae waur3 offers, waur offers, But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, The deil tak his taste to gae near her! 4 He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her, But a' the neist week as I fretted wi'-care, 5 And wha but my fine fickle lover was there! But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, My wooer he capered as he'd been in drink, I spier'd1 for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 3 And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, But Heavens! how he fell a swearin. He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. Tune- The Lass of Livingstone.' O, wert thou in the cauld blast, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee; Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, ▲ asked. Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 2 kind. • direction of the wind. 3 twisted. shelter. |