They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They fill'd up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him further woe, And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, oer a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller used him worst of all-- He crushed him between two stones. And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise; 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy: 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Though the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! ----R. Burns. LADY MARY ANN |O, Lady Mary Ann Looks o'er the castle wa', She saw three bonie boys Playing at the ba'; The youngest he was The flower amang them a'; My bonie laddie's young, But he's growin' yet. O father! O father! An' ye think it fit, We'll send him a year To the college yet: We'll sew a green ribbon Round about his hat, And that will let them ken He's to marry yet. Lady Mary Ann Was a flower i' the dew, Sweet was its smell, And bonie was its hue! And the langer it blossom'd The sweeter it grew; For the lily in the bud Will be bonier yet. Young Charlie Cochrane Was the sprout of an aik; Bonie and bloomin' And straught was its make: The sun took delight To shine for its sake, And it will be the brag O' the forest yet. The simmer is gane When the leaves they were green, And the days are awa' That we hae seen; But far better days I trust will come again, For my bonie laddie's young, But he's growin' yet. ----R. Burns. THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN |The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great, His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State; He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep, But favour wi' wooin' was fashions to seek. Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, At his table head he thought she'd look well, M'Clish's ae daughter o' Clavers-ha' Lee, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouther'd and as gude as new, His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat, And wha could refuse the laird wi' a' that? He took the grey mare, and rade cannily, An' rapp'd at the yett o' Clavers-ha' Lee; "Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,-- She's wanted to speak to the laird o' Cockpen." Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine;