AWA, Whigs, awa!

Awa, Whigs, awa!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae good at a'.

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonnie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs came in like frost in June,
And wither'd a' our posies.

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust-
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't;
And write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.

Our sad decay in Church and State
Surpasses my descriving;
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap,
But we may see him wauken;
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin.

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,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie;

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,
To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him:
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!
I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so early,

If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie!

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;
O braw lads of Galla Water:
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.

Sae fair her hair, sae brent' her brow,
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie.

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,
Down amang the broom, my dearie,
The lassie lost a silken snood,

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.'
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;
O braw lads of Galla Water:

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,
Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body—
Coming through the rye;
Gin a body kiss a body-
Need a body cry?

1 High and smooth.

2 Outburst of grief.

399

Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body-
Need the world ken?
Jenny's a' wat, poor body;
Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.

TUNE-JACKY LATIN."

GAT ye me, O gat ye me,

O gat ye me wi' naething?
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,
A mickle quarter basin.
Bye attour,' my gutcher' has

A hich house and a laigh ane,

A' forbye, my bonnie sel',

The toss of Ecclefechan.

O haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing,
O haud your tongue and jauner;*

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,
Wad airt me to my treasure.

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,
He eked out wi' law, man.

2 Grandsire.
6 Groped.

3 Toast.

4 Talking.

HAD I THE WYTE.

MR. ERSKINE.

Collected, Harry stood awee,

Then open'd out his arm, man;
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,

And ey'd the gathering storm, man;
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a linn, man;
The Bench, sae wise, lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

HAD I THE WYTE.

TUNE-"HAD I THE WYTH SHE BADE ME."

HAD I the wyte,' had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte she bade me;
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side,
And up the loan' she shaw'd me;
And when I wadna venture in,
A coward loon she ca'd me;
Had kirk and state been in the gate,
I lighted when she bade me.

Sae craftilie she took me ben,
And bade me make nae clatter;
"For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman,
Is out and ower the water:"
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace,
When I did kiss and dawte3 her,
Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say I was the fautor.

Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refuse her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her?

He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,*
And blue and bluidy bruised her;
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but had excused her?

Milking-place.
Instrument for dressing flax.

• Fondle.

1 Blame.

401