Volume Ii Part 12 (1/2)

Quoth Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear, I 've woo'd ye mair than half a-year, An' if ye 'd wed me, ne'er cou'd speer Wi' blateness, an' the care o't.

Now to the point: sincere I 'm we 't; Will ye be my half-marrow sweet?

Shake han's, and say a bargain be 't, An' ne'er think on the care o't.

Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed, O' sic a snare I 'll aye be rede; How mony, thochtless, are misled By marriage, an' the care o't!

A single life 's a life o' glee, A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me, Frae toil an' sorrow I 'll keep free, An' a' the dool an' care o't.

Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply, Ye ne'er again shall me deny, Ye may a toothless maiden die, For me, I 'll tak' nae care o't.

Fareweel, for ever!--aff I hie;-- Sae took his leave without a sigh: Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I 'm yours, I 'll try The married life, an' care o't.

Rab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back, An' gae her mou' a hearty smack, Syne lengthen'd out a lovin' crack 'Bout marriage, an' the care o't.

Though as she thocht she didna speak, An' lookit unco mim an' meek, Yet blythe was she wi' Rab to cleek In marriage, wi' the care o't.

MARY'S TWA LOVERS.

TUNE--_”Bessie Bell and Mary Gray.”_

Dear Aunty, I 've been lang your care, Your counsels guid ha'e blest me; Now in a kittle case ance mair Wi' your advice a.s.sist me: Twa lovers frequent on me wait, An' baith I frankly speak wi'; Sae I 'm put in a puzzlin' strait Whilk o' the twa to cleek wi'.

There 's sonsy James, wha wears a wig, A widower fresh and canty, Though turn'd o' sixty, gaes fu' trig, He 's rich, and rowes in plenty.

Tam 's twenty-five, hauds James's pleugh, A lad deserves regardin'; He 's clever, decent, sober too, But he 's no worth ae fardin'.

Auld James, 'tis true, I downa see, But 's cash will answer a' things; To be a lady pleases me, And buskit be wi' braw things.

Tam I esteem, like him there 's few, His gait and looks entice me; But, aunty, I 'll now trust in you, And fix as ye advise me.

Then aunt, wha spun, laid down her roke, An' thus repliet to Mary: Unequal matches in a yoke Draw thrawart and camstrarie.

Since gentle James ye dinna like, Wi 's gear ha'e nae connexion; Tam 's like yoursel', the bargain strike, Grup to him wi' affection.

THE FORLORN SHEPHERD.[68]

TUNE--_”Banks of the Dee.”_

Ye swains wha are touch'd wi' saft sympathy's feelin', For victims wha 're doom'd sair affliction to dree, If a heart-broken lover, despairin' an' wailin', Claim pity, your pity let fa' upon me.

Like you I was blest with content, an' was cheerie,-- My pipe wont to play to the cantiest glee, When smilin' an' kind was my Mary, sweet Mary, While Mary was guileless, an' faithfu' to me.

She promised, she vow'd, she wad be my half-marrow, The day too was set, when our bridal should be; How happy was I, but I tell you wi' sorrow, She 's perjured hersel', ah! an' ruined me.

For Ned o' Shawneuk, wi' the charms o' his riches, An' sly winnin' tales, tauld sae pawky an' slee, Her han' has obtain'd, an' clad her like a d.u.c.h.ess, Sae baith skaith an' scorn ha'e come down upon me.

Ye braes ance enchantin', o' you I 'm now wearie, An' thou, ance dear haunt, 'neath the aul' thornie tree, Where in rapture I sat an' dawt.i.t fause Mary, Fareweel! ye 'll never be seen mair by me.

Awa' as a pilgrim, far distant I 'll wander, 'Mang faces unkent, till the day that I dee.