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

Chorus-O gude ale comes and gude ale goes; Gude ale gars me sell my hose, Sellmy hose, and pawn my shoon- Gude ale keeps my heart aboon! I had saxowsenin a pleugh, And they drew a' weeleneugh: I sell'dthem a'just anebyane- Gude ale keeps the heart aboon! O gude ale comes, &c. Gude ale hauds

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?

Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, Had I the wyte? she bade me; She watch'd me bythe hie-gate side, And up the loanshe shaw'd me. And when I wadna venture in, A coward loonshe ca'd me: Had Kirkan' State been in the gate, I'd lighted when she bade me. Sae craftilie she took

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,

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