But a’ your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an’ fechtin’ fierce, Sin’ that day Michael did you pierce, Down to this time, Wad ding a’ Lallan tongue, or Erse, In prose or rhyme. An’ now, auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinkin’, A certain Bardie’s rantin’, drinkin’, Some luckless hour will send him linkin’, To your black pit; But faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin’, An’ cheat you yet. But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! O wad ye tak a thought an’ men’! Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken— Still hae a stake: I’m wae to think upo’ yon den, Ev’n for your sake! O MAY, THY MORN O May, thy morn was ne’er sae sweet, As the mirk night o’ December; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber; And dear was she I dare na name, But I will aye remember. And here’s to them, that, like oursel, Can push about the jorum! And here’s to them that wish us weel, May a’ that’s guid watch o’er them! And here’s to them we dare na tell, The dearest o’ the quorum! PEG-A-RAMSEY Cauld is the e’enin’ blast O’ Boreas o’er the pool, And dawin’ it is dreary When birks are bare at Yule. O bitter blaws the e’enin’ blast When bitter bites the frost, And in the mirk and dreary drift The hills and glens are lost. Ne’er sae murky blew the night That drifted o’er the hill, But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey Gat grist to her mill. WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O’T First when Maggy was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her air; Now we’re married—spier nae mair— Whistle owre the lave o’t. Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Bonnie Meg was nature’s child— Wiser men than me’s beguil’d; Whistle owre 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 owre the lave o’t. Wha I wish were maggots’ meat, Dish’d up in her winding sheet, I could write—but Meg may see’t; Whistle owre the lave o’t. HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE Husband, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir; Tho’ I am your wedded wife, Yet I am not your slave, sir. ‘One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy; Is it man or woman, say, My spouse Nancy?’ If ’tis still the lordly word, Service and obedience; I’ll desert my sov’reign lord, And so good-bye allegiance! ‘Sad shall I be, so bereft, Nancy, Nancy! Yet I’ll try to make a shift, My spouse Nancy.’