AWA, Whigs, awa! Awa, Whigs, awa! Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust- Our sad decay in Church and State Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, Awa, Whigs, awa! Awa, Whigs, awa! Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 1 Thistles. COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er, I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, If I had twenty thousand lives, We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 1 An old song restored by Burns, COMING THROUGH THE RYE, BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. TUNE-"GALLA WATER. CHORUS. BRAW, braw lads of Galla Water; And follow my love through the water. Sae fair her hair, sae brent' her brow, O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, O'er yon moss amang the heather; I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow my love through the water. Down amang the broom, the broom, That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.' I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow my love through the water. COMING THROUGH THE RYE. TUNE-" COMING THROUGH THE RYE." COMING through the rye, poor body, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Gin a body meet a body— 1 High and smooth. 2 Outburst of grief. 399 Gin a body meet a body She draiglet a' her petticoatie, THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. TUNE-JACKY LATIN." GAT ye me, O gat ye me, O gat ye me wi' naething? A hich house and a laigh ane, A' forbye, my bonnie sel', The toss of Ecclefechan. O haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, I held the gate till you I met, Syne I began to wander: I tint my whistle and my sang, I tint my peace and pleasure; But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 1 Move over. TUNE "GILLICRANKIE." LORD ADVOCATE. He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till in a declamation-mist, His argument he tint it: He gaped for't, he graped' for't, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, 2 Grandsire. 3 Toast. 4 Talking. HAD I THE WYTE. MR. ERSKINE. Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man; And ey'd the gathering storm, man; HAD I THE WYTE. TUNE-"HAD I THE WYTH SHE BADE ME." HAD I the wyte,' had I the wyte, Sae craftilie she took me ben, Could I for shame, could I for shame, He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,* Milking-place. • Fondle. 1 Blame. 401 |