Now, Jenny dear, my errand here Is to seek ye to a' that; My heart 's a' loupin', while I speer Gin ye 'll tak me, wi' a' that. Mysel', my gear, an' a' that; Mysel', my gear, an' a' that; Come, gie 's your loof to be a proof, Ye 'll be a wife to a' that. Syne Jenny laid her neive in his-- Said, she 'd tak him wi' a' that; An' he gied her a hearty kiss, An' dauted her, an' a' that. They set a day, an' a' that; They set a day, an' a' that; Whan she 'd gang hame to be his dame, An' haud a rant, an' a' that. MARRIAGE, AND THE CARE O'T. TUNE--_"Whistle o'er the lave o't."_ Quoth Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear, I 've woo'd ye mair than half a-year, An' if ye 'd wed me, ne'er cou'd speer Wi' blateness, an' the care o't. Now to the point: sincere I 'm we 't; Will ye be my half-marrow sweet? Shake han's, and say a bargain be 't, An' ne'er think on the care o't. Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed, O' sic a snare I 'll aye be rede; How mony, thochtless, are misled By marriage, an' the care o't! A single life 's a life o' glee, A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me, Frae toil an' sorrow I 'll keep free, An' a' the dool an' care o't. Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply, Ye ne'er again shall me deny, Ye may a toothless maiden die, For me, I 'll tak' nae care o't. Fareweel, for ever!--aff I hie;-- Sae took his leave without a sigh: Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I 'm yours, I 'll try The married life, an' care o't. Rab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back, An' gae her mou' a hearty smack, Syne lengthen'd out a lovin' crack 'Bout marriage, an' the care o't. Though as she thocht she didna speak, An' lookit unco mim an' meek, Yet blythe was she wi' Rab to cleek In marriage, wi' the care o't. MARY'S TWA LOVERS. TUNE--_"Bessie Bell and Mary Gray."_ Dear Aunty, I 've been lang your care, Your counsels guid ha'e blest me; Now in a kittle case ance mair Wi' your advice assist me: Twa lovers frequent on me wait, An' baith I frankly speak wi'; Sae I 'm put in a puzzlin' strait Whilk o' the twa to cleek wi'. There 's sonsy James, wha wears a wig, A widower fresh and canty, Though turn'd o' sixty, gaes fu' trig, He 's rich, and rowes in plenty. Tam 's twenty-five, hauds James's pleugh, A lad deserves regardin'; He 's clever, decent, sober too, But he 's no worth ae fardin'. Auld James, 'tis true, I downa see, But 's cash will answer a' things; To be a lady pleases me, And buskit be wi' braw things. Tam I esteem, like him there 's few, His gait and looks entice me; But, aunty, I 'll now trust in you, And fix as ye advise me.