There's news, lassies, news, Gude news I've to tell! There's a boatfu' o'lads Come to our town to sell. Chorus-The wean wants a cradle, And the cradle wants a cod: I'll no gang to my bed, Until I get a nod. Father, quo'she, Mither, quo she, Do what you can, I'll nogangto my bed, Until

Chorus-O aye my wife she dangme, An' aftmy wife she bang'd me, If ye giea woman a' her will, Gudefaith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye. On peace an'rest my mindwas bent, And, fool I was! I married; Butnever honest man's intent Sane cursedly miscarried. O aye my wife, &c. Some sairiecomfort at the last, When a'thirdays

O bonie was yon rosy brier, That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man; And bonieshe, and ah, how dear! It shaded fraethe e'enin sun. Yonrosebuds in the morning dew, How pure, amangthe leaves saegreen; But purer was the lover's vow They witness'd in their shade yestreen. All in its rude and prickly bower, That

O Lassie, are ye sleepin yet, Orare ye waukin, I wadwit? For Love has bound me hand an' fit, And I would fainbe in, jo. Chorus-O let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; O let me in this aenight, I'll nocome back again, jo! O hear'st thou not the wind an'weet?

O steer her up, an' haudher gaun, Her mither's at the mill, jo; An' gin she winna tak a man, E'en let her tak her will, jo. First shoreher wi'a gentle kiss, And ca'anither gill, jo; An' gin she tak the thing amiss, E'enlet her flyteher fill, jo. O steer her up, an' be nablate,

Whom will you send to London town, To Parliament and a' that? Or wha in a' the country round The best deserves to fa' that? For a' that, and a' that, Thro' Galloway and a' that, Where is the Lairdorbelted Knight The best deserves to fa' that? Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, (And wha is't

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.

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

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