For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger:
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour o' danger.
Song to Maria.
[Written by Sheridan Knowles, and first published in the "Edinburgh Literary Journal," 1829. Set to music by J. T. May.]
Ye're my ain, love, ye're my ain!
Forms sae fair, I ne'er see mony;
Hearts sae fond, sae true, love, nane!
Ye're my ain! my dear! my bonny!
Years a score, a score, amaist,
Ha'e we lo'ed and lived thegither:
Ilk ane sweeter than the last;
Ye're my ain, I ha'e nae ither!
Will we mak' the ae score twa?
Bounteous still's the power that's o'er us!
Bloomy summer's scarce awa';
Mellow autumn's a' before us;
Long 'tis then tin winter, dear!
Comes wi' thoughtfu' smile and greets us!
Far's the close! yet, far or near,
Ye're my ain, where'er it meets us!
The Cock-Laird.
[This is a song considerably older than the days of Ramsay, although it is sometimes attributed to him. The original verses are given in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius (1725.) One or two of these are too coarse for insertion. The present version is given from a collation of several copies. A "cock-laird" means a small proprietor.]
A cock-laird, fu' cadgie,
Wi' Jennie did meet;
He hawsed, he kiss'd her.
And ca'd her his sweet.
Wilt thou gae alang wi' me,
Jennie, Jennie?
Thou'se be my ain lemmane,
Jo Jennie, quo' he.
If I gae alang wi' thee,
Ye maunna fail
To feast me wi' caddels
And guid hackit kail.
What needs a' this vanity,
Jennie? quo' he;
Is na bannocks and dribly-beards
Guid meat for thee?
Gin I gang alang wi' you,
I maun ha'e a silk hood,
A kirtle-sark, wyliecoat,
And a silk snood,
To tie up my hair in
A cockernonie.
Hout awa', thou's gane wud, I trow,
Jennie! quo' he.
Gin ye'd ha'e me look bonnie,
And shine like the moon,
I maun ha'e katlets and patlets,
And cam'rel-heel'd shoon;
Wi' craig-claiths and lug-babs,
And rings twa or three.
Hout the deil's in your vanity,
Jennie! quo' he.
And I maun ha'e pinners,
With pearlins set roun',
A skirt o' the puady,
And a waistcoat o' brown.
Awa' wi' sic vanities,
Jennie, quo' he,
For curches and kirtles
Are fitter for thee.
My lairdship can yield me
As muckle a-year,
As haud us in pottage
And guid knockit bear
But, havin' nae tenants,
Oh, Jennie, Jennie,
To buy ought I ne'er have
A penny, quo' he.
The Borrowstown merchants
Will sell ye on tick;
For we maun ha'e braw things,
