Gae thy ways, John Ochiltree :

Hae done! it has nae fa'r wi' me. I'll fet the beaft in throw the land, She'll may be fa' in a better hand, Even fit thou there, and drink thy fill, For I'll do as I wont to do ftill.

SONG.

To the tune of, Jenny beguil'd the webster.

The auld chorus.

Up ftairs, down ftairs,

Timber ftairs fear me.

I'm laith to lie a' night my lane,
And Johny's bed jae near me.

Mither dear, I 'gin to fear,

Though I'm baith good and bonny,

I winna keep; for in my fleep

I start and dream of Johny.
When Johny then comes down the glen,
To woo me, dinna hinder;
But with content gi' your confent,
For we twa ne'er can finder.

Better to marry, than mifcarry ;

For fhame and fkaith's the clink o't,
To thole the dool, to mount the ftool,
I downa bide to think o't;

Sae while 'tis time I'll fhun the crime,
That gars poor Epps gae whinging,
With haunches fow, and een fae blew,
To a' the bedrals binging.

Had Epty's apron bidden down,

The kirk had ne'er a kend it;

But when the word's gane thro' the town;

Alake how can fhe mend it?

Now Tam maun face the minister,

And the maun mount the pillar : And that's the way that they maun gae, For poor folk has nae filler.

Now had ye'r tongue, my daughter young,
Replied the kindly mither,
Get Johny's hand in haly band,
Syne wap your wealth togither.
I'm o' the mind, if he be kind,
Ye'll do your part discreetly;
And prove a wife will gar his life
And barrel run right sweetly.

SONG.

To the tune of, Wat ye wha I met yereen,

O'

F all the birds whofe tuneful throats

Do welcome in the verdant spring,
I far prefer the Stirling's notes,
And think fhe does moft fweetly fing..
Nor thrush, nor linnet, nor the bird.
Brought from the far Canary coaft,.
Nor can the nightingale afford,
Such melody as the can boaft..

When Phoebus fouthward darts his fires,
And on our plains he looks afcance,
The nightingale with him retires,
My Stirling makes my blood to dance..
In fpite of Hyems' nipping froft,
Whether the day be dark or clear,
Shall I not to her health entoaft,
Who makes it fummer all the year?

Then by thyfelf, my lovely bird,
I'll ftroke thy back, and kifs thy breaft;
And if you'll take honeft word,
As facred as before the priest,

my

Fair maid, I'm thankfu' to my fate,

To have fic company;

For I'm ganging ftraight that gate,
Where ye intend to be.

When we had gane a mile or twain,
I faid to her, My dow,

May we not lean us on this plain, -
And kifs your bonny mou?

T. R

SHE..

Na, if ye are contracted,
Thae nae mair to fay:
Rather than be rejected,
I will gie o'er the play;
And chufe anither will refpe&t
My love and on me rew;
And let me clafp her round the neck,,
And kifs her bonny mou'

S&H'E.

Sir, ye are proud-hearted,
And laith to be faid nay,
Elfe ye wad ne'er a ftarted
For ought that I did say:
For women in their modesty,
At first they winna bow;
But if we like your company,
We'll prove as kind as you.

ON

SONG.

To the tune of, I'll never leave thee.

NE day I heard Mary fay, How fhall I leave thee? Stay, dearest Adonis, ftay, Why wilt thou grieve me?.

Z

Alas