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Some counsel unto me come len';
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?
In poortith I might mak a fen';
If I mauna marry Tam Glen.
“ Gude-day to you,” brute, he comes ben;
But whan will he dance like Tam Glen ?
And bids me beware o' young men;
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten;
* This song is the production of a Mechanic in Glasgow, who is also the author of Scotia's Sons, The Coggie, and several other pieces of considerable merit. Some of them will be found in our subsequent pages.
But if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? Yestreen at the valentines dealing,
My heart to my mou' gied a sten, For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.
The last Hallowe'en I was waukin',
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen. Come counsel, dear tittie, don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I loo dearly, Tam Glen.
THE BONNIE BRUCKET LASSIE.
She's blue beneath the een;
That danc'd on the green.
She did his love return;
And left her for to mourn.
My shape, she says, was handsome,
My face was fair and clean ;
And blue beneath the een.
Before that they turn'd blue;
And a', my love, for you.
My person it was comely,
My shape they said was neat;
My stays they winna meet.
My mind was never sad;
Wi’ thinking o' my lad.
Or hide me in the sea,
And has forsaken me!
Within my breast to dwell;
But loving him too well.
As by he chanc'd to pass;
The lovely brucket lass.
Since that your love's so true,
I'll faithful prove to you. *
* 66 The two first lines of this song are all of it that is old. The rest of the song, as well as those songs in the Museum (Johnson's) marked T, are the works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary body of the name of Tytler, commonly known by the name of Balloon Tytler, from his having projected a fire balloon: a mortal who, though he trudges about Edinburgh as a common Printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and kneebuckles (as unlike each other as a rush cap and a diadem;) yet that same unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed at half-a-guinea a-week!”
UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.
Up in the morning early;
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
The drift is driving sairly;
Up in the morning, fc.
A' day they fare but sparely;
Up in the morning, 8c.
BIDE YE YET.
And bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,
And I'll ay be cantie wi thinking o't. When I gang afield, and come hame at e'en, I'll get my wee wifie fou neat and fou clean; And a bonnie wee bairnie upon her knee, That'll cry papa or daddie to me.
And bide ye yet, fc. I carena a button for sack fu's o' cash; Let wizen'd auld batchelors think on sic trash;
Gie me my dear lassie to sit on my knee,
And bide ye yet, fc.
And bide ye yet, 8c.
And never brought to min',
For auld langsyne,
For auld langsyne.
And pu'd the gowans fine;
For auld langsyne, &c.
Frae morning sun till dine;
For auld langsyne, &c.
And gies a hand o' thine,
For auld langsyne, fc.