My pratty _Katy_ then quoth I, And many a Sigh I gave her; Let not a Leard for _Katy_ die, But take him to great Favour: Sha laught aloud, and sa did aw, And bad me hemward to ge; And still cry'd out awaw, awaw, Fro bonny _Kathern Loggy_. A Fardel farther I would see, And some began to muse me; The Lasses they sat wittally, And the Lads began to Rooze me: The Blades with Beaus came down she knows, Like ring Rooks fro _Strecy Boggy_; And four and twanty _Highland_ Lads, Were following _Kathern Loggy_. When I did ken this muckle Trame, And every ene did know her; I spir'd of _Willy_ what they mean, Quo he they aw do Mow her: There's ne'er a Lass in aw _Scotland_, From _Dundee_ to _Strecy Boggy_; That has her Fort so bravely Mann'd, As bonny _Kathern Loggy_. At first indeed I needs must tell, Ise could not well believe it; But when Ise saw how fow they fell, Ise could not but conceive it. There was ne'er a Lad of any note, Or any deaf young Roguey; But he did lift the welly Coat, Of bonny _Kathern Loggy_. Had I kenn'd on Kittleness, As I came o'er the Moore _Joe_; Ise had n'er ban as Ise ha dun, Nor e'er out-stankt my seln so: For I was then so stankt with stint, I spurr'd my aw'd Nagg _Fogey_; And had I kenn'd sha had been a Whore, I had ne'er Lov'd _Kathern Loggy_. (_The_ Catholick _Brother_) _A_ SONG. [Music] Dear _Catholick_ brother are you come from the Wars, So lame of your foots and your Face full of Scars; To see your poor _Shela_ who with great grief was fill'd, For you my dear Joy when I think you were kill'd. _With a Fa la, la._ O my shoul my dear _Shela_, I'm glad you see me, For if I were dead now, I could not see thee; The Cuts in my Body, and the Scars in my Face, I got them in Fighting for Her Majesty's Grace. But oh my dear _Shela_ dost thou now love me, So well as you did, e're I went to the Sea; By _Cri----_ and St. _Pa----_ my dear Joy I do, And we shall be Married to morrow Just now. I'll make a Cabin for my dearest to keep off the Cold, And I have a Guinea of yellow red Gold; To make Three halfs of it I think will be best, Give Two to my _Shela_ and the Tird to the _Priest_. Old _Philemy_ my Father was full Fourscore Years old, And tho' he be dead he'll be glad to be told; That we Two are Married, my dear spare no cost, But send him some Letter, upon the last Post. _The Triumphs of_ PEACE, _or the_ WIDDOWS _and_ MAIDS _Rejoycing_. [Music] Dear Mother I am Transported, To think of the boon Comrades; They say we shall all be Courted, Kind Widows as well as maids, Oh! this will be joyful News: _We'll dress up our Houses with Holly, We'll broach a Tub of humming Bub, To treat those that come with a rub a dub dub, For dear Mother they'll make us Jolly._