O, hand your tongue, my feirrie auld wife, O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!

I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!

I've seen the day ye b.u.t.ter'd my brose, And cuddled me late and early, O!

But downa do's come o'er me now, And, oh! I feel it sairly, O!

CXLVI.

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

Tune--"_She's fair and fause._"

[One of the happiest as well as the most sarcastic of the songs of the North: the air is almost as happy as the words.]

I.

She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang; She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang.

A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, And I hae tint my dearest dear; But woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie la.s.s gang.

II.

Whae'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, A woman has't by kind.

O woman, lovely woman fair!

An angel form's fa'n to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair-- I mean an angel mind.

CXLVII.

THE EXCISEMAN.

Tune--"_The Deil cam' fiddling through the town._"

[Composed and sung by the poet at a festive meeting of the excis.e.m.e.n of the Dumfries district.]

I.

The deil cam' fiddling through the town, And danced awa wi' the Exciseman, And ilka wife cries--"Auld Mahoun, I wish you luck o' the prize, man!"

The deil's awa, the deil's awa, The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman; He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman!

II.

We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink, We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man; And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.

III.

There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land Was--the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.

The deil's awa, the deil's awa, The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman: He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.

CXLVIII.

THE LOVELY La.s.s OF INVERNESS.

Tune--"_La.s.s of Inverness._"

[As Burns pa.s.sed slowly over the moor of Culloden, in one of his Highland tours, the lament of the La.s.s of Inverness, it is said, rose on his fancy: the first four lines are partly old.]

I.

The lovely la.s.s o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en and morn, she cries, alas!

And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e: Drumossie moor--Drumossie day-- A waefu' day it was to me!

For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three.

II.

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see: And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e!

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou host made sair, That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.

CXLIX.

A RED, RED ROSE.

Tune--"_Graham's Strathspey._"

[Some editors have pleased themselves with tracing the sentiments of this song in certain street ballads: it resembles them as much as a sour sloe resembles a drop-ripe damson.]

I.