The wanton wee thing will rejoice,
When tented by a sparkling eye,
The spinet tinkling with her voice,
It lying on her lovely knee.

While kettles dringe on ingles dour,.
Or clashes stay the lazy lass;
Thir fangs may ward you frae the four,
And gaily vacant minutes pass..

E'en while the tea's fill'd reeking round,
Rather than plot a tender tongue,
Treat a' the circling lugs wi' found,
Syne fafely fip when ye have fung.

May happiness haud up your hearts,
And warm you lang with loving Sires:
May Pow'rs propitious play their parts,
In matching you to your defires.

EDINBURGH, ift Jan. 1724.

A. RAMSAY

PREFACE.

A

LTHOUGH it be acknowledged, that our

Scots Tunes have not lengthened variety of Mufic, yet they have an agreeable gaiety and natural fweetness that make them acceptable wherever they are known, not only among ourselves, but in other countries. They are for the moft part fo chearful, that, on hearing them well played or sung, we find a difficulty to keep ourselves from dancing. What further adds to the esteem we have for them, is, their antiquity, and their being univerfally known. Mankind's love for novelty would appear to contradict this reafon; but will not, when we confider, that for one that can tolerably entertain with vocal or inftrumental Music, there are fifty who content themselves with the pleasure of hearing, and finging without the trouble of being taught: Now, fuch are not judges. of the fine flourishes of new Mufic imported from Italy and elsewhere, yet will liften with pleasure to Tunes that they know, and can join with in the Cho

rus. Say that our way is only an harmonious fpeak ing of merry, witty, or foft thoughts, after the Poet has dreffed them in four or five ftanzas; yet undoubtedly these must relifh beft with people, who have not beftowed much of their time in acquiring a tafte for that downright perfect Music, which requires none, or very little of the Poet's affistance.

My being well affured, how acceptable new words to known Tunes would prove, engaged me to the making verses for above fixty of them, in this and the fecond Volume: about thirty more were done by fome ingenuous young Gentlemen, who were fo well pleafed with my undertaking, that they generously lent me their affiftance; and to them the lovers of Senfe and Mufic are obliged for fome of the best Songs in the Collection. The, reft are fuch old verses as have been done time out of mind, and only wanted to be cleared from the drofs of blundering Tranfcribers and Printers; fuch as, The Gaberlunzie: Man, Muirland Willy, &c. that claim their place in our Collection, for their merry images of the low character.

THIS twelfth Edition in a few years, and the general demand for the Book by perfons of all ranks, whereever our language is understood, is a fure evidence of

it's being acceptable. My worthy friend, Dr. Ban tells me from America,

nerman,

Not only do your Lays o'er Britain flow,
Round all the globe your happy Sonnets go;
Here thy foft verfe made to a Scottish air,
Are often fung by our Virginian fair
Camilla's warbling notes are heard no more,
But yield to Laft time I came o'er the Moor;
Hydafpes and Rinaldo both give way

To Mary Scot, Tweed-fide, and Mary Gray.

FROM this and the following Volume, Mr. Thomson (who is allowed by all, to be a good teacher and fing-er of Scots Songs) culled his Orpheus Caledonius, the mufic for both the voice and flute, and the words of the Songs finely engraven in a folio book, for the ufe of perfons of the highest quality in Britain, and Dedicated to the late Queen. This, by the bye, I thought proper to intimate, and do myself that justice which the Publisher neglected; fince he ought to have acquainted his illuftrious lift of Subfcribers, that the most of the Songs were mine, the Music abstracted.

In my Compofitions and Collections, I have kept out all smut and ribaldry, that the modeft voice and

ear of the fair finger might meet with no affront; the chief bent of all my ftudies being, to gain their good graces; and it shall always be my care, to ward off thefe frowns that would prove mortal to my Mufe.

Now, little books, go your ways; be assured of favourable reception wherever the fun fhines on the freeborn chearful Briton; fteal yourselves into the ladies bofoms. Happy volumes! you are to live too as long as the Song of Homer in Greek and English, and mix your afhes only with the Odes of Horace. Were it but my fate, when old and ruffled, like you to be again reprinted, what a curious figure would I appear on the utmost limits of time, after a thousand Editions? Happy volumes! you are fecure, but I must yield; please the Ladies, and take care of my fame.

In hopes of this, fearless of coming age,

I'll fmile thro' life; and when for rhyme renown', I'll calmly quit the farce and giddy flage,

And fleep beneath a flow'ry turf full found.