I toffed and tumbled,

And fleep frae me fled.

Now, its fleeping and waking
He's ay in my eye,

And my heart play'd ay

Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie, pattie.

WITH

The Deceiver.

ITH tuneful pipe and hearty glee,
Young WATY wan my heart;

A blyther lad ye coudna fee,

All beauty without art.

His winning tale

Did foon prevail

To gain my fond belief;

But foon the swain

Gangs o'er the plain,

And leaves me full, and leaves me full,
And leaves me full of grief.

Though COLIN courts with tuneful fang, Yet few regard his mane;

The laffes a' round WATY thrang,

While COLIN's left alane:

In Aberdeen

Was never seen

A lad that gave fic pain ;

He daily wooes,

And still pursues,

Till he does all, till he does all,

Till he does all obtain,

But foon as he has gain'd the bliss,
Away then does he run,

And hardly will afford a kiss
To filly me undone :
Bonny KATY,

Maggy, BeatY,

Avoid the roving swain ;

His wyly tongue

Be sure to shun,

Or you like me, or you like me,
Like me will be undone.

Ettrick Banks.

N Ettrick banks, in a fummer's night,

At glowming when the sheep drave hame,

I met my laffie braw and tight,

Come wading barefoot a' her lane : My heart grew light, I ran, I flang

My arms about her lily neck,

And kiss'd and clapt her there fou lang,
My words they were na mony feck.

I faid, My laffie, will ye go

To the Highland hills, the Erse to learn? I'll baith gie thee a cow and ew,

When ye come to the brigg of Earn. At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash, And herrings at the Broomy Law; Chear up your heart, my bonny lass, There's gear to win we never faw.

All day when we have wrought enough,
When winter, frofts, and fnaw begin,
Soon as the fun gaes weft the loch,

At night when ye fit down to spin,
I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring;
And thus the weary night we'll end,
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
Our pleasant simmer back again.

Syne when the trees are in their bloom,
And gowans glent o'er ilka field,
I'll meet my lass amang the broom,
And lead you to my fummer fheild.
Then far frae a' their scornfu' din,

That make the kindly hearts their sport,
We'll laugh, and kifs, and dance, and fing,
And gar the langest day seem short.

Ew-bughts MARION.

ILL ye go to the ew-bughts, MARION,

WILL

And wear in the sheep wi' me;

The fun shines fweet, my MARION,

But nae haff fae fweet as thee.

O MARION's a bonny lass,

And the blyth blinks in her eye; And fain wad I marry MARION, Gin MARION wad marry me.

There's gowd in your garters, MARION,
And filk on your white hause-bane;

Fu' fain wad I kiss my MARION
At e'en when I come hame.

There's braw lads in Ernflaw, MARION,
Wha gape and glowr with their ee,
At kirk when they fee my MARION;
But nane of them lo'es like me.

I've nine milk-ews, my MARION,
A cow and a brawny quey,
I'll gie them a' to my MARION,
Juft on her bridal-day:

And ye's get a green fey apron,

And waistcoat of the London brown, And wow but ye will be vap'ring, Whene'er ye gang to the town.

I'm young and ftout, my MARION;
Nane dance like me on the green;
And gin ye forfake me, MARION,
I'll e'en draw up wi' JEAN:
Sae put on your pearlins, MARION,
And kyrtle of the cramafie;

And foon as my chin has nae hair on,
I shall come west and see ye.

I've felt all its favours, and found its decay;

Sweet was its bleffing,

Kind its careffing,

But now 'tis fled,fled far away.

I've seen the foreft

Adorn'd the foremost,

With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay; Sae bonny was their blooming,

Their scent the air perfuming;

But now they are wither'd and wedded away.

I've seen the morning.

With gold the hills adorning,

And loud tempeft storming before the mid-day. I've seen Tweed's filver ftreams

Shining in the funny beams,

Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on his way.

O fickle Fortune!

Why this cruel sporting?

O why ftill perplex us, poor fons of a day?
Nae mair your smiles can chear me,

Nae mair your frowns can fear me, For the flowers of the forest are withered away.

Same Tune.

DIEU, ye ftreams that smoothly glide

A Through mazy windings o'er the plain,

I'll in fome lonely cave reside,

And ever mourn my faithful swain. Flower of the foreft was my love,

Soft as the fighing fummer's gale, Gentle and constant as the dove, Blooming as roses in the vale.

Alas! by Tweed my love did stray,

For me he search'd the banks around: