THE POOR MAN. THE air of this song is my own, and is to be found in The Border Garland, with accompaniments by Dewar-Mr Purdie's edition. Loose the yett, an' let me in, Lady wi' the glistening ee, Dinna let your menial train Drive an auld man out to dee. See, the rime hangs at my chin Lady, for the sake of Heaven, Loose the yett, an' let me in! Ye shall gain a virgin hue, Lady, for your courtesye, Ever beaming, ever new, Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee. Lady, there's a lovely plain Lies beyond yon setting sun, There we soon may meet again— Short the race we hae to run. 'Tis a land of love an' light; High an' low maun there unite, Lady, for the sake of Heaven, Loose the yett, an' let me in! Blessings rest upon thy head, That bright tear that thou didst shed It is gane to heaven aboon, To the fount of charitye; When thy days on earth are done, That blest drop shall plead for thee THE WOMEN FO'K. THE air of this song is my own. It was first set to music by Heather, and most beautifully set too. It was afterwards set by Dewar, whether with the same accompaniments or not, I have forgot. It is my own favourite humorous song, when forced to sing by ladies against my will, which too frequently happens; and, notwithstanding my wood-notes wild, it will never be sung by any so well again. -For the air, see the Border Garland. O SAIRLY may I rue the day I fancied first the womenkind; For aye sinsyne I ne'er can hae Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind! An' teased an' flatter'd me at will, But aye, for a' their witcherye, The pawky things I lo'e them still. O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k! But they hae been the wreck o' me; O weary fa' the women fo'k, For they winna let a body be! E I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell, To comprehend what nae man can ; That they hae gentle forms an' meet, Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd- O the women fo'k, &c. Even but this night nae farther gane, The date is neither lost nor lang, I tak ye witness ilka ane, How fell they fought, and fairly dang. Their point they've carried right or wrang, Without a reason, rhyme, or law, An' forced a man to sing a sang, O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k! But they hae been the wreck o' me; O weary fa' the women fo'k, For they winna let a body be! |