III.

A weel-stocked mailen--himsel' for the laird-- And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd, But thought I may hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers.

IV.

But what wad ye think? In a fortnight or less-- The deil tak his taste to gae near her!

He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

V.

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

VI.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, Lest neebors might say I was saucy; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear la.s.sie, dear la.s.sie, And vow'd I was his dear la.s.sie.

VII.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recovered her hearin', And how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet, But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin', But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'.

VIII.

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to morrow.

CCLX.

CHLORIS.

Tune--"_Caledonian Hunt's Delight._"

["I am at present," says Burns to Thomson, when he communicated these verses, "quite occupied with the charming sensations of the toothache, so have not a word to spare--such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it." This is the last of his strains in honour of Chloris.]

I.

Why, why tell thy lover, Bliss he never must enjoy: Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie?

II.

O why, while fancy raptured, slumbers, Chloris, Chloris all the theme, Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, Wake thy lover from his dream?

CCLXI.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.

[This song is said to be Burns's version of a Gaelic lament for the ruin which followed the rebellion of the year 1745: he sent it to the Museum.]

I.

Oh! I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Without a penny in my purse, To buy a meal to me.

II.

It was na sae in the Highland hills, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the country wide Sae happy was as me.

III.

For then I had a score o' kye, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Feeding on yon hills so high, And giving milk to me.

IV.

And there I had three score o' yowes, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, And casting woo' to me.

V.

I was the happiest of a' the clan, Sair, sair, may I repine; For Donald was the brawest lad, And Donald he was mine.

VI.

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, Sae far to set us free; My Donald's arm was wanted then, For Scotland and for me.

VII.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell, Right to the wrang did yield: My Donald and his country fell Upon Culloden's field.

VIII.

Oh! I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the world wide Sae wretched now as me.