On every Tree :

Have I not graven our Loves

In yonder fpreading Groves,

Tho' falfe thou be:

Was not a folemn Oath

Plighted betwixt us both;
Thou thy Faith, I my Troth,

Conftant to be?

Some gloomy Place I'll find,

Some doleful Shade,

Where neither Sun nor Wind

E'er Entrance had :

Into that hollow Cave,

There will I figh and rave,

Because thou do'ft behave

So faithleffly.

Wild Fruit fhall be my Meat,

I'll drink the Spring,

Cold Earth fhall be my Seat :

And when a Ghoft I am,

I'll vifit thee:

O thou deceitful Dame,

Whole Cruelty

Has kill'd the kindest Heart

That e'er felt Cupid's Dart,

And never can defert

From loying thes,

SONG CCCXXXIV. We'll a' to Kello.

A

N I'll awa to bony Tweed Side,
And fee my Deary come throw,
And he fhall be mine

Gif fae he incline,

For I hate to lead Apes below.

While young and fair,
I'll make it my Care,

To fecure myself in a Jo:
I'm na fic a Fool

To let my Blood cool,

And fyne gae lead Apes below.

Few Words, bony Lad,
Will eithly perfwade,

Tho' blushing, I daftly fay no,

Gae on with your Strain,
And doubt not to gain,

For I hate to lead Apes below.
Unty'd to a Man,

Do whate'er we can,

We never can thrive or dow:

Then I will do well,

Do better wha will,

And let them lead Apes below.

Our Time is precious,
Gods are gracious,

That Beauties upon us bestow;
"Tis not to be thought,
We got them for nought,

Or to be fet up for a Show.

'Tis carried by Votes,
Come kilt up ye're Coats,

And let us to Edinburgh go,
Where the that's bony
May catch a Jobny,

And never leads Apes below.

SONG CCCXXXV. Montrofe's Lines

I

Tofs and tumble thro' the Night,
And with th'approaching Day,

Thinking when Darknefs yields to Light,
I'll banifh Care away:

But when the glorious Sun doth rife,
And chears all Nature round,
All Thought of Pleasure in me dies
My Cares do ftill abound.

My tortur'd and uneafy Mind
Bereaves me of my Reft;

My Thoughts are to all Pleasure blind,
With Care I'm still oppreft:
But had I her within my Breast,
Who gives me fo much Pain,
My raptur'd Soul would be at reft,
And fofteft Joys regain.

I'd not envy the God of War,

Blefs'd with fair Venus' Charms,
Nor yet the thund'ring Jupiter,
In fair Alcmena's Arms:
Paris with Helen's Beauty bleft,
Would be a Jeft to me ;
If of her Charms I were poffeft,
Thrice happier I would be.
But fince the Gods do not ordain
Such happy Fate for me,

I dare not 'gainft their Will repine,
Who rule my Destiny.

With fprightly Wine I'll drown my Care,

And cherish up my Soul;

Whene'er I think on my loft Fair,

I'll drown her in the Bowl.

SONG CCCXXXVI. Leader-baughs.

HE Morn was fair, faft was the Air,
All Nature's Sweets were springing

The Buds did bow with Silver Dew,
Ten thousand Birds were finging":
When on the Bent, with blyth Content,
Young Jamie fang his Marrow,
Nae bonnier Lafs e'er tred the Grafs
On Leader-baughs and Yarrow.

How fweet her Face, where every Grace
In heavenly Beauty's planted;
Her fmiling Een, and comely Mien
That nae Perfection wanted.
I'll never fret, nor ban my Fate,
But blefs my bonny Marrow :
If her dear Smile my Doubts beguile,
My Mind fhall ken nae Sorrow.

Yet tho' fhe's fair, and has full Share
Of every Charm enchanting,
Each Good turns ill, and foon will kill
Poor me, if Love be wanting.
O bonny Lafs! have but the Grace
To think, ere ye gae furder;
Your Joys maun flit, if ye commit
The crying Sin of Murder.

My wandring Ghaift will ne'er get reft,
And Night and Day affright ye;

But if you're kind, with joyful Mind
I'll ftudy to delight ye.

Our Years around with Love thus crown'd,
From all Things Joys fhall borrow;
Thus none shall be more bleft than we
On Leader-baughs and Yarrow.

O fweeteft Sue! 'tis only you

Can make Life worth my Wishes,

If equal Love your Mind can move
To grant this beft of Bliffes;

Thou art my Sun, and thy leaft Frown
Would blaft me in the Bloffom ;

But if thou shine, and make me thine,
I'll flourish in thy Bofom.

SONG CCCXXXVII. Cowden-knows.

When Tweed

Hen Summer comes, the Swains on

Sing their fuccessful Loves,

Around the Ews and Lambkins feed,

And Mufick fills the Groves.

But my lov'd Song is then the Broom
So fair on Cotudon-knows

For fure fo fweet, fo foft a Bloom
Elfewhere there never grows.
There Colin tun'd his oaten Reed,
And won my yielding Heart;
No Shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed
Could play with half such Art.
He fung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde,
The Hills and Dales all round,
Of Leader-baughs and Leader-fide,
Oh how I blefs'd the Sound.
Yet more delightful is the Broom
So fair on Cordon-knows ;
For fure fo frefh, fo bright a Bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.
Not Teviot Braes fo green and gay
May with this Broom compare,
Not Yarrow Banks in flowry May,
Nor the Bush aboon Traquair.
More pleafing far are Cordon-knows,
My peaceful happy Home,
Where I was wont to milk my Ews
At Even among the Broom.

Ye Powers that haunt the Woods and Plains

Where Tweed with Teviot flows,

Convey me to the best of Swains,
And my lov'd Cordon-knows.

SONG CCCXXXVIII. The Widow,&c. HE Widow can bake, and the Widow can brew,