Oh where, and oh where, is your Highland laddie gone? He's gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne; And it's oh, in my heart, how I wish him safe at home! Oh where, and oh where, does your Highland laddie dwell? He dwells in merry Scotland, at the sign of the Blue Bell; And it's oh, in my heart, that I love my laddie well. In what clothes, in what clothes is your Highland laddie clad? His bonnet's of the Saxon green, his waistcoat's of the plaid; And it's oh, in my heart, that I love my Highland lad. Suppose, oh, suppose that your Highland lad should die? The bagpipes shall play over him, and I'll lay me down and cry; And it's oh, in my heart, I wish he may not die. THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN Lady Nairne The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud an' he's great, His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the State; He wanted a wife his braw house to keep, But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek. Doon by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, At his table-head he thocht she'd look well; M'Cleish's ae dochter, o' Clavers-ha' Lee, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouther'd, as gude as when new; His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword, an' cocked hat, An' wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that? He took the grey mare, he rade cannilie, An' rapped at the yett o' Clavers-ha' Lee; 'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,-- She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen.' Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flow'r wine; 'An' what brings the Laird at sic a like time?' She put aff her apron, an' on her silk goon, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, an' gaed awa' doon. An' when she cam' ben he bowèd fu' low, An' what was his errand he soon let her know; Amazed was the Laird when the lady said 'Na!' An' wi' a laigh curtsie she turnèd awa'! Dumfounder'd was he, but nae sigh did he gi'e, He mounted his mare an' he rade cannilie; An' often he thocht, as he gaed through the glen, 'She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen!' CALLER HERRIN' Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Wha'll buy my caller herrin', New drawn frae the Forth? When ye were sleepin' on your pillows, Dreamed ye aught o' our puir fellows, Darkling as they faced the billows, A' to fill the woven willows? Buy my caller herrin', New drawn frae the Forth. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? They're no brought here without brave darin'; Buy my caller herrin', Hauled thro' wind and rain. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?... Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin'; Wives and mithers, maist despairin', Ca' them lives o' men. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?... When the creel o' herrin' passes, Ladies, clad in silks and laces, Gather in their braw pelisses, Cast their heads, and screw their faces. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?...