Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Robin Rattle, Robin Rattle;
Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Ufe Jenny Nettles kindly
Score out the blame, and thun the fhame,
And without mair debate o't,
Tak hame your wean, make Jenny fain
The leel and leefome gate o't.
It is na meat, but appetite
That makes our eating a delyt;
Beauty is at best deceit;
Fancy only kens nae cheat. -
LEADER-HAUGHS and YARROW.
Hen Phabus bright the azure skies
With golden rays enlight❜neth,
He makes all nature's beauties rife,
Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick❜neth:
Amongst all thofe he makes his choice,
And with delight goes thorow,
With radiant beams and filver streams,
Are Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.
When Aries the day and night
In equal length divideth,
Auld frofty Saturn takes his flight,
Nae langer he abideth :
Then Flora queen, with mantle green,
Cafts aff her former forrow,
And vows to dwell with Ceres fell
In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.
Pan playing on his aiten reed,
And fhepherds him attending,
Do here refort their flocks to feed,
The hills and haughs commending;
With cur and kent upon the bent,
Sing to the fun, Good-morrow.
And fwear nae fields mair pleasures yield,
Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.
An houfe there ftands on Leader fide,
Surmounting my descriving,
With rooms fae rare, and windows fair,
Like Dedalus' contriving:
Men paffing by, do aften cry,
In footh it hath nae marrow;
It stands as sweet on Leader fide,
As Newark does on Yarrow.
A mile below, wha lifts to ride,
They'll hear the mavis finging;
Into St Leonard's banks fhe'll bide,
Sweet birks her head o'er-hinging:
The lintwhite loud, and progne proud,
With tuneful throats and narrow,
Into St Leonard's banks they fing,
As fweetly as in Yarrow.
The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee,
With nimble wing fhe fporteth.
By vows fhe'll flee far frae the tree
Where Philomel reforteth:
By break of day, the lark can fay,
I'll bid you a good-morrow,
I'll ftreek my wing, and mounting fing,
O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.
Park, Wanton-warus, and Wooden-cleugh,
The east and western Mainses,
The wood of Lauder's fair enough,
The corns are good in Blainhes,
Where aits are fine, and fald be kind,
That if ye fearch all thorow
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are
Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.
In Burn Mill-bog and Whitflade fhaws,
The fearful hare fhe haunteth,
Brig-baugh and Braidwoodfheil fhe knaws,
And Chapel-wood frequenteth.
Yet when the irks, to KaidЛly birks
She rins, and fighs for forrow,
That she should leave fweet Leader-Haughs,
And cannot win to Yarrow.
What sweeter music wad ye hear,
Than hounds and beigles crying?
The ftarted hare rins hard with fear,
Upon her speed relying.
But yet her ftrength it fails at length,
Nae beilding can fhe borrow
In Sorrel's field, Cleckman or Hag's,
And fighs to be in Yarrow...
For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag,
With fight and fcent purfue her,
Till ah! her pith begins to flag,
Nae cunning can rescue her.
O'er dub and dyke, o'er feugh and syke,
She'll run the fields all thorow,
Till fail'd fhe fa's in Leader-Haugbs,
And bids farewell to Yarrow.
Sing Erflington and Cowdenknows,
Where Homes had anes commanding:
And Drygrange with thy milk-white ews,
"Twixt Tweed and Leader standing:
The bird that flies through Reedpath trees,
And Gledfwood banks ilk morrow,
May chant and fing, Sweet Leader-Haughs,
And bonny howms of Yarrow.
But minstrel Burn cannot affwage
His grief, while life endureth,
To fee the changes of this age,
That fleeting time procureth;
For mony a place ftands in hard cafe,
Where blyth fowk kend nae forrow,
With Homes that dwelt on Leader fide,
And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow.
For the fake of Somebody.
OR the fake of fomebody, For the fake of fomebody," I cou'd wake a winter-night,, For the fake of fomebody: VOL. IL
I am gawn to feek a wife,
I am gawn to buy a plaidy;
I have three ftane of woo,
Carling, is thy daughter ready?
For the fake of fomebody, &c.
Betty, laffic, fay't thy fell,
Tho' thy dame be ill to fhoo,
Firft we'll buckle, then we'll tell,
Let her flyte and fyne come too:
What fignifies a mither's gloom,
When love in kiffes come in play?
Shou'd we wither in our bloom,
And in fimmer mak nae hay?
For the fake, &c.
Tho' I try my luck with thee, Since ye are content to tye.
The ha'f-mark bridal band wi' me; I'll flip hame, and wash my feet,
And fteal on linens fair and clean, Syne at the tryfting-place we'll meet, To do but what my dame has done. For the fake, &c.
Now my lovely Betty gives
Confent in fic a heartsome gate,
It me frae a' my care relieves,
And doubts that gart me aft look blate;
Then let us gang and get the grace,
For they that have an appetite
Shou'd eat; and lovers fhou'd embrace;
If these be faults, 'tis nature's wyte.
Norland Jocky and Southland JENNY.
Southland Jenny, that was right bonny,
Had for a fuitor a norland Johny;
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