Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, A buck, a beau, or"Dem my eyes!" Who in his life did little good, And his last words were "Dem my blood!"

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd, If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

In se'enteen hunder'n forty-nine, The deilgatstuff to maka swine, An' coostit in a corner; Butwilily he chang'd his plan, An' shap'd it something like a man, An'ca'd it Andrew Turner.

We grant they're thine, those beauties all, So lovely in our eye; Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness, For others to enjoy!

Chorus.-Ca'the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnierowes, My bonie Dearie. Hark the mavis' e'ening sang, Sounding Clouden's woods amang; Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonie Dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c. We'll gaedown byClouden side, Thro' the hazels, spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide,

O my Luve's like a red, redrose, That's newly sprung in June: O my Luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonielass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Tilla'the seas gangdry, my dear, And

As I stood by yonroofless tower, Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air, Where the howletmourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. The winds were laid, the airwas still, The stars they shot alangthe sky; The fox was howling on the hill, And the distant echoing glens reply. The stream,