Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they call'd it Link.u.m-doddie.

Willie was a wabster guid, Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie; He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Madgie was her mither; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad nae gie a b.u.t.ton for her.

II.

She has an e'e--she has but ane, The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller: A whiskin' beard about her mou', Her nose and chin they threaten ither-- Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad nae gie a b.u.t.ton for her.

III.

She's bow hough'd, she's hem shinn'd, A limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter; She's twisted right, she's twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter: She has a hump upon her breast, The twin o' that upon her shouther-- Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad nae gie a b.u.t.ton for her.

IV.

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, An' wi' her loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion.

Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water-- Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad nae gie a b.u.t.ton for her.

Cx.x.xIV.

LADY MARY ANN.

Tune--"_Craigtown's growing._"

[The poet sent this song to the Museum, in his own handwriting: yet part of it is believed to be old; how much cannot be well known, with such skill has he made his interpolations and changes.]

I.

O, Lady Mary Ann Looks o'er the castle wa', She saw three bonnie boys Playing at the ba'; The youngest he was The flower amang them a'-- My bonnie laddie's young, But he's growin' yet.

II.

O father! O father!

An' ye think it fit, We'll send him a year To the college yet: We'll sew a green ribbon Round about his hat, And that will let them ken He's to marry yet.

III.

Lady Mary Ann Was a flower i' the dew, Sweet was its smell, And bonnie was its hue; And the langer it blossom'd The sweeter it grew; For the lily in the bud Will be bonnier yet.

IV.

Young Charlie Cochran Was the sprout of an aik; Bonnie and bloomin'

And straught was its make: The sun took delight To shine for its sake, And it will be the brag O' the forest yet.

V.

The simmer is gane, When the leaves they were green, And the days are awa, That we hae seen; But far better days I trust will come again, For my bonnie laddie's young, But he's growin' yet.

Cx.x.xV.

SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.

Tune.--"_A parcel of rogues in a nation._"

[This song was written by Burns in a moment of honest indignation at the northern scoundrels who sold to those of the south the independence of Scotland, at the time of the Union.]

I.

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory, Fareweel even to the Scottish name, Sae fam'd in martial story.

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, And Tweed rins to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands-- Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

II.

What force or guile could not subdue, Thro' many warlike ages, Is wrought now by a coward few For hireling traitor's wages.

The English steel we could disdain; Secure in valour's station; But English gold has been our bane-- Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

III.

O would, or I had seen the day That treason thus could sell us, My auld gray head had lien in clay, Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!

But pith and power, till my last hour, I'll mak' this declaration; We've bought and sold for English gold-- Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

Cx.x.xVI.

THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.

Tune--"_Kellyburn Braes._"

[Of this song Mrs. Burns said to Cromek, when running her finger over the long list of lyrics which her husband had written or amended for the Museum, "Robert gae this one a terrible brushing." A considerable portion of the old still remains.]

I.

There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), And he had a wife was the plague o' his days; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.