Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry; I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen. Carle, An The King Come Chorus.—Carle, an the King come, Carle, an the King come, Thou shalt dance and I will sing, Carle, an the King come. An somebody were come again, Then somebody maun cross the main, And every man shall hae his ain, Carle, an the King come. Carle, an the King come, &c. I trow we swapped for the worse, We gae the boot and better horse; And that we’ll tell them at the cross, Carle, an the King come. Carle, an the King come, &c. Coggie, an the King come, Coggie, an the King come, I’se be fou, and thou’se be toom Coggie, an the King come. Coggie, an the King come, &c. The Laddie’s Dear Sel’ There’s a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lassies should wander awa’; For he’s bonie and braw, weel-favor’d witha’, An’ his hair has a natural buckle an’ a’. His coat is the hue o’ his bonnet sae blue, His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles, they dazzle us a’. For beauty and fortune the laddie’s been courtin; Weel-featur’d, weel-tocher’d, weel-mounted an’ braw; But chiefly the siller that gars him gang till her, The penny’s the jewel that beautifies a’. There’s Meg wi’ the mailen that fain wad a haen him, And Susie, wha’s daddie was laird o’ the Ha’; There’s lang-tocher’d Nancy maist fetters his fancy, —But the laddie’s dear sel’, he loes dearest of a’. Whistle O’er The Lave O’t First when Maggie was my care, Heav’n, I thought, was in her air, Now we’re married—speir nae mair, But whistle o’er the lave o’t! Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Sweet and harmless as a child— Wiser men than me’s beguil’d; Whistle o’er the lave o’t! How we live, my Meg and me, How we love, and how we gree, I care na by how few may see— Whistle o’er the lave o’t! Wha I wish were maggot’s meat, Dish’d up in her winding-sheet, I could write—but Meg maun see’t— Whistle o’er the lave o’t! My Eppie Adair Chorus.—An’ O my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie, Wha wad na be happy wi’ Eppie Adair? By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! And O my Eppie, &c. A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, If e’er I beguile ye, my Eppie Adair! A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, If e’er I beguile thee, my Eppie Adair! And O my Eppie, &c. On The Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations Thro’ Scotland Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom