For now-a-days, there's nae sic things
As honest hearts o' Nature's lything;
There'll scarce a body look your way,
Gif that the siller binna kything.
Oh the waefu', &c.
Ye'll no get brose, nor breid, nor cheese,
Nor social drap to weet your wyzon:
What cares the polished man o' wealth,
Though wyzon, wame, and a' gae gyzant?
When lucky stars gi'e 's leave to sit,
Ower comfort's cozy cutchac beeking;
To set your very creepy stule,
Baith rich and puir will aft be seeking.
Oh the waefu', &c.
What, think ye, is't links hands and hearts?
It's nowther beauty, wit, nor carriage;
But, frae the cottage to the ha',
It's siller aye that mak's the marriage.
I've been in luve out ower the lugs,
Like money other chiel afore me;
But, 'cause my mailin was but sma',
The saucy limmers did abhor me.
Oh the waefu', &c.
Hale books I've wrote, baith prose and verse,
And mony a roosing dedication,
But nae ane owned the puir baugh chield,
Sae nocht for me but grim starvation.
And oh, but my ain shanks be sma',
My very nose as sharp's a filler;
Grim death will soon tak' me awa'—
Ohone, ohone, the want o siller!
Oh the waefu', &c.
The Auld Man's Mear.
[Both the words and air of this song are said to be the composition of Patrick or Patie Birnie, a noted fiddler and rhymer, in Kinghorn, Fifeshire, who flourished towards the close of the 17th and beginning of the 18th centuries, and of whom an excellent portrait by Aikman is still extant at Leslie House. Ramsay, in his Elegy on Patie Birnie, mentions "O wiltu, wiltu do't again," and "The auld man's mear's dead," as songs which Patie "made frae his ain head." We give here two different versions of the song. The second is from "The Scottish Minstrel."]
I.
The auld man's mear's dead;
The puir body's mear's dead;
The auld man's mear's dead,
A mile aboon Dundee.
There was hay to ca', and lint to lead,
A hunder hotts o' muck to spread,
And peats and truffs and a' to lead—
And yet the jaud to dee!
She had the fiercie and the fleuk,
The wheezloch and the wanton yeuk;
On ilka knee she had a breuk—
What ail'd the beast to dee?
She was lang-tooth'd and blench-lippit,
Heam-hough'd and haggis-fittit,
Lang-neckit, chandler-chaftit,
And yet the jaud to dee!
II.
The auld man's mear's dead!
The puir man's mear's dead!
The auld man's mear's dead,
A mile aboon Dundee!
She was cut-luggit, painch-lippit,
Steel-waimet, staincher-fittet,
Chanler-chaftit, lang-neckit,
Yet the brute did dee!
The auld, &c.
The auld man's mear's dead!
The puir man's mear's dead!
The peats, and neeps, and a' to lend,
And she is gane—waes me!
The auld, &c.
The puir man's head's sair
Wi' greetin' for his gray mear;
He's like to dee himsel' wi' care,
Aside the green kirk-yard.
The auld, &c.
He's thinkin' on the bygane days.
And a' her douce and canny ways:
And how his ain gudewife, auld Meg,
Micht maist as weel been spaired.
The auld, &c.
