NCS.

OF CHOICE SONGS.

173

Great Hercules and Sampson too,
Were stronger men than I or you,
Yet they were baffled by their dears,
And felt the distaff and the sheers.

Sae bide ye yet, &c.

Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls,
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon-balls,
But nought is found by fea or land,
That can a wayward wife withstand.

Sae bide you yet, and bide you yet,
Ye little ken what's to betide you yet ;
The half of that will gain ye yet,
If a wayward wife obtain ye yet.

IN I had a wee house, and a canty wee fire,

A bonny wee wifie to praise and admire,
A bonny wee yardie afide a wee burn,
Farewel to the bodies that yammer and mourn.

And bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,
Ye little ken what may

betide

ye yet ; Some bonny wee body may

be

my lot,
And I'll ay be canty wi’ thinking o't...
When I gang afield, and come hame at e'en,
I'll get my wee wife fou neat and fou clean,
And a bonny wee bairnie upon her knee,
That will cry papa or daddy to me.

And bide ye yet, &c.

And if there should happen ever to be
A diff'rence a'tween my wee wifie and me,
In hearty good humour, altho' she be teaz'd,
I'll kiss her, and clap her, until she be pleas'd.

And bide ye yet, &c.

S O N G

CXCIX.

THE WEDDING DA Y.

ONE

With

a

heart full of love, and a vaporous head, To wing the dull hours, and his forrows allay, How sweetly he sung of his wedding day.

O what would I give for a wedding day!
O what would I give for a wedding day!
Wealth and ambition I'd lofe you away,

With all you can boast for a wedding day.
Should the Heavens bid me ask, and with freedom in.

plore,
One bliss for the anguish I suffer'd before,
For Jeffy, dear Jessy, alone would I pray,
And grasp my whole wish on my wedding day.

Bleft be the approach of my wedding day!
I'll hail my dear nymph on my wedding day;
Earth smiles more charming, and heaven more gay,
And happiness dawns on my wedding day.

But Luna, who equally fov'reign presides,
O'er hearts of the ladies, and how of the tides,
Unhappily changes--has changed her mind !
O Fate ! cou'd a wife prove e'er constant or kind?

Why was I born to a wedding day.
Curit, ever curft be my wedding day.
Colin, poor Colin, has changed his lay,

And dates all his plagues from his wedding day.
Batchelors, be warn'd by the shepherd's distress,
Be taught by your freedom to measure your bliss ;
Nor fall to the witchcraft of beauty a prey,
And blaft all your hopes on a wedding day.

Horns is the gift of a wedding day !
Want and a {cold crowns a wedding day !
Happy's the gallant has a wife while he

may, And prefers a ftiff rope to a wedding day.

SONG

CC.

THE BONNY LAD.

I'H.

;

'LL fing of my lover all night and all day,

He's ever good-natur’d, and frolic, and gay:
His voice is as sweet as the nightingale's lay,
And well on his bagpipe my shepherd can play.

And a bonny young lad is my Jocky,
And a bonny young lad is my Jocky.

a

He says that he loves me, I'm witty and fair,
And praises my eyes, my lips, and my hair ;
Rose, violet, nor lily, with me can't compare :
If this be to flatter, 'tis pretty, I swear.

And a bonny, &c.
He kncels at my feet, and with many a figh,
He cry'd, O my dear, will you never comply;
If you mean to destroy me, why do it, I'll dic,
I trembled all over, and answer'd, Not I.

And a bonny, &c.

Around the tall May pole he dances so neat,
And sonnets of love the dear boy can repeat :
He's constant, he's valiant, he's wise, and discreet,
His looks are so kind, and his kisses so sweet.

And a bonny, &c.

At eve', when the fun finks repos'd in the west, And May's tuneful chorists all skim to their neft, When I meet on the green the man I love best, My heart is just ready to burst in my

breast. And a bonny, &c. But see how the meadows are moisten'd with dew, Then come, my dear shepherd, I wait but for you ;

Let us live for each other, both constant and true,
And taste the sweet raptures no monarch e'er knew.

And a bonny young lad is my Jocky,
And a bonny young lad is my Jocky.

$ O N G

CCI.

THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL

I'!

"'LL fing of my Jemy all day and all night,

She's always good natur'd, and full of delight; Her looks are so pleasant, her eyes are so bright, That I always am happy when she's in my fight.

And a beautiful girl is my Jenny, &c.

To me Jenny's love is oft-times expreft,
Of all her young gallants the loves me the bett ;
Her lips I have kiss'd, and her bosom I've prest,
She's sweeter than roses in June, I proteft.

And a beautiful girl, &c.

Of all the gay laffes that dance on the green,
"Tis Jenny excels with an air and a mien;
She fings like a fyren, the looks like a queen,
She's the sweeteft young beauty my eyes e'er bave feen,

And a beautiful girl, &c.
Come hither, sweet Jenny, no longer delay,
Join hands with your Jocky, to church let's away.
Don't trust till to morrow, be bappy to day,
And gladly the fummons of Cupid obey,

Then love shall bless Jenny and Jocky,
Then love shall bless Jenny and Jocky.

BRO

RAW, braw lads of Galla-water,

O braw lads of Galla-water, I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And foñow my love thro' the water, Sae fair her hair, fae brent her brow,

Sae bonny blue her een', my deary,

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',

I aften kiss her till I'm weary.

O'er yon bank, and o’er yon brae,
O'er
yon
moss
amang

the hether, I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow

my

love thro' the water. Down amang the broom, the broom, Down amang the broom, my deary :

, The laffie loft her filken snood,

That gar'd her greet till she was weary.

0000 0000 0000 0000 0603 0000 0000 0000 0000 covo 1000000000000000000000001 1000 0000 0000 0000 to

Sung in the Mask of Alfredo WHEN

Britain firt, at Heaven's command,

Arose the azure main,
This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels fung the strain ;

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves ;
For Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so bleft as thee,

Muft in their turn to tyrants fall ; Whilst thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

Rule Britannia, &c.

Still more majestic shalt thou rife,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke,
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.

Rule Britannia, &c.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame,

All their attempts to bend thee down ;
Will but aroufe, but arouse thy gen'rous flame,
And work their woe and thy renown.

Rule Britannia, &c.