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AULD ROB MORRIS.* There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

But, Oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nanc;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane :
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast,

O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
0, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !

* The two first lines are taken from an old ballad--the rest 3 wholly original.


DUNCAN GRAx cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the woning o't,
On blithe yule night when we were fu',

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

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• A well-known rock in the frith of Clyde.

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, 8c.
Meg grew sick-as he grew heal,

Ha, ha, 8c.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings ;
And O, her een, they spak sic things !

Ha, ha, &c.

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, &c.
Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, &c.
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
Now they're crouse and canty baith.

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.*

4th December 1792. The foregoing I submit, my dear Sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them, or condemn them as seemeth good in your sight. Duncan Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature.

* This has nothing in common with the old licentious ballad of Duncan Gray, but the first line, and part of the third-The rest is wholly original.


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Tune-" I HAD A HORSE.”
O POORTITh cauld, and restless love,

Ye wreck my peace between ye;-
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 'twere na for my Jeanie.

why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life’s dearest band's untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love,

Depend on Fortune's shining ?


This warld's wealth when I think on,

Its pride, and a' the leave o't;
Fie, fie on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't.

O why, &c.

Her een sae bonnie blue betray,

How she repays my passion ;
But prudence is her o'erword ay, .
She talks of rank and fashion.

O why, 8c.

wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him ?

wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am ?

O why, &c.

How blest the humble cotter's fate*!

He wooes his simple dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,

Can never make them eerie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining ?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love,

Depend on Fortune's shining ?



THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

That wander thro' the blooming heather ; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws,

Can match the lads o' Galla water,

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I loe him better ; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonnie lad o' Galla water,

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae na meikle tocher ; Yet rich in kindness, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.

• " The wild-wood Indian's fate" in the original MS. VOL. IV.

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