BESSY AND HER SPINNIN’ WHEEL O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel, O leeze me on my rock and reel; Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e’en! I’ll set me down and sing and spin, While laigh descends the simmer sun, Blest wi’ content, and milk and meal— O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel. On ilka hand the burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot; The scented birk and hawthorn white Across the pool their arms unite, Alike to screen the birdie’s nest, And little fishes’ caller rest: The sun blinks kindly in the biel’, Where blythe I turn my spinnin’ wheel. On lofty aiks the cushats wail, And echo cons the doolfu’ tale; The lintwhites in the hazel braes, Delighted, rival ither’s lays; The craik amang the claver hay, The paitrick whirrin’ o’er the ley, The swallow jinkin’ round my shiel, Amuse me at my spinnin’ wheel. Wi’ sma’ to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O wha wad leave this humble state, For a’ the pride of a’ the great? Amid their flaring, idle toys, Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinnin’ wheel? THE GALLANT WEAVER Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant weaver. Oh I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear’d my heart would tine, And I gied it to the weaver. My daddie sign’d my tocher-band, To gie the lad that has the land; But to my heart I’ll add my hand, And gie it to the weaver. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; While bees rejoice in opening flowers; While corn grows green in simmer showers, I’ll love my gallant weaver. EPPIE ADAIR An’ O! my Eppie, My jewel, my Eppie! Wha wadna be happy Wi’ Eppie Adair? By love, and by beauty, By law, and by duty, I swear to be true to My Eppie Adair! An’ O! my Eppie, My jewel, my Eppie! Wha wadna be happy Wi’ Eppie Adair? A’ pleasure exile me, Dishonour defile me, If e’er I beguile thee, My Eppie Adair! FOR WEANS AND WIFE (TO DR. BLACKLOCK) Wow, but your letter made me vauntie! And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie? I kenn’d it still, your wee bit jauntie Wad bring ye to; Lord send you aye as weel’s I want ye, And then ye’ll do.... But what d’ye think, my trusty fier, I’m turn’d a gauger—Peace be here! Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, Ye’ll now disdain me! And then my fifty pounds a year Will little gain me.