O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wadtouch her heart Whakills me wi'disdaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the
No more of your guests, be they titled ornot, And cookery the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation.
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn, And blythe awakes the morrow; But a'the pride o'Spring's return Can yield me nochtbut sorrow. I see the flowers and spreading trees, I hear the wild birds singing; But what a weary wightcan please, And Care his bosom wringing! Fain, fainwould I my griefs impart, Yet dare nafor your
Cauld is the e'enin blast, O'Boreas o'er the pool, An'dawin' it is dreary, When birks are bare at Yule. Cauldblaws the e'enin blast, When bitter bites the frost, And, in the mirkand dreary drift, The hills and glens are lost: Ne'er saemurky blew the night That drifted o'er the hill, ButboniePeg-a-Ramsay Gatgrist to her mill.
O had the malt thy strength of mind, Orhops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind, A gift that e'enfor Syme were fit.
O that I had ne'er been married, I wadnever had naecare, Now I've gottenwife an' weans, An'they cry "Crowdie" evermair. Chorus-Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, Three times crowdie in a day Ginye crowdie ony mair, Ye'll crowdiea'my meal away. Waefu' Want and Hunger fleyme, Glowrin' bythe hallanen'; SairI fechtthem at the door, Butaye I'm eeriethey come
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? Then let the louns beware, Sir; There's wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on shore, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Erewe permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally! We'll ne'er permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally! O
Gracie, thou art a man of worth, O be thou Dean for ever! May he be damned to hell henceforth, Who fauts thy weight ormeasure!
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, And empty all his barrels: He's blest-if, as he brew'd, he drink, In upright, honest morals.