Let ilka lassie tak a man,

An' ilka callan tak a wife;

But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,
Or tine the sweetest joys o' life,
Ye men wha's heads are turnin' gray,
Wha to the grave are hastin' on,
Let reason aye your passion sway,
An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.

An' a' ye lasses plump and fair,

Let pure affection guide your hand,
Nor stoop to lead a life o' care,

Wi' wither'd age, for gear or land.
When ilka lad your beauty slights,
An' ilka smile shall yield to wae,
Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights
O' Nell, the lassie o' the brae.

BONNY BEETY.

TUNE-Tow row row.

"I WAS a weaver, young an' free, Sae frank an' cheery aye to meet wi', Until wi' ane unwary e'e

I view'd the charms o' Bonny Beety.

Lack a day!

Far away
Will I gae,

If I lose her.

"I tauld her I had got a wound

Through sark an' waistcoat frae her sweet e'e; She said it ne'er should do't again, An' off like lightning flew my Beety.

Luckless day!

May I say,

When my way
Led to Beety.

"Ae day she cam wi' hanks o' yarn,

When wi' my wark my face was sweety; She said I was a chrieshy thief,

An' ne'er should get a kiss o' Beety.

O ho, ho, hon!

Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en

A weaver's ruin.

"She laughs at me an' at my loom,
An' wi' the herd has made a treaty;
But wae light on this clouted shoon,
How durst he e'er attempt my Beety?
O how blind,

Eyes an' mind,

Womankind

Are to their profit!

"But by my shuttle now I swear,

An' by the beam, if Wattie meet me,
I'll cut his throat frae ear to ear-

I'll lose my life or gain my Beety,
Blood an' guts!

Jades an' sluts!
I'll lose my wits,
If I lose Beety."

Thus sang the weaver at his wark,

An' wi' pure grief was like to greet aye, When Charlie brought a letter ben, He thought he ken'd his Beety.

Happy day,

Did he say,

When my way
Led to Beety.

He read "Dear sir, my wedding-day
Is Friday neist, an' you maun meet me,
To wish me joy, an' drink my health,
An' dine wi' me-your servant Beety."
"O ho, hon

Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en
A weaver's ruin.

He raise sat down-an' raise again-
Ask'd Charlie if the day was sleety;
Then through his head he popp'd the lead,
An' died a fool for love o' Beety.

The web is red,

Beety's wed,

Will is dead,

An' all is over.

AYONT THE MOW AMANG THE
HAY.

TUNE-Andrew wi' his cutty Gun.

BLYTHLY hae I screw'd my pipes,
An' blythly play'd the lee-lang day,
An' blyther been wi' bonny Bess
Ayont the mow amang the hay.
When first I saw the bonny face

O Bessie, bloomin' in her teens,
She wyl'd away this heart o' mine,
An' ca'd it fou o' corkin' preens.

"At e'en when a' the lave gae lie,
An' grannie steeks her waukrife e'e,
Steal out when I the winnock tap,

Ahint the ha' I'll meet wi' thee."

She leugh an' bad me let her hame, Her mither sair wad flyte an' scauld; But ere I quat my bonny Bess

Anither tale I trow she tauld.

On Tysday night, fou weel I wat,

Wi' hinny words I row'd my tongue, Raught down my plaid, an stievely stak Untill my neive a hazel rung.

Now whan I con'd my artless tale
Gaun linkin' owre the lilie lea,
Fou weel I trow'd that ilka bushi
Some jeering question speir'd at me.

The bleeter cry'd frae yont the loch,

"O hoolie, hoolie-whare ye gaun ?" The craik reply'd frae 'mang the corn,

Turn out your taes, my bonny man." An' soon I faund wi' shiv'rin' shanks,

My heart play dunt through basfou fear, Whan glow'rin' owre the kail-yard dyke To see gin a' the coast was clear;

An' there, like ony nightly thief,
Wi' eerie swither lour'd awhile,
Till rallying ilka traitor nerve,

I lightly laup outowr the stile;
Syne gae the glass twa cannie pats,
An' Bessie bade na lang frae me;