An' ev'ry time great care is taen,
To see them duly changed;

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys,
Sin' Mar's year did desire,

Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire,

In wrath that night.

XXVIII.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery.
Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a-steerin;
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,
They parted aff careerin,

Fu' blythe that night.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVO.

WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
Or wav'ring like the Bauckie-bird, †
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;

When hail-stanes drive wi' bitter skyte,

* Sowins, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Hallow

een supper.

†The old Scotch name for the Rat.

And infant frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e'en a merry core
O' randie, gangrel bodies,
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies:
Wi' quaffing and laughing,
They ranted and they sang;
Wi' jumping and thumping,
The vera girdle rang.

First niest the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sat weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
And knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm
She blinket on her sodger:
An' ay he gives the tousie drab
The tither skelpin kiss,

While she held up her greedy gab

Just like an a'mous dish.

Ilk smack still did crack still,
Just like a cadger's whip,
Then, stagg'ring and swagg'ring
He roar'd this ditty up:-

1 AM a son of Mars, who have been in many wars.

And show my cuts and scars wherever I come

This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

II.

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,

When the bloody die was cast on the heights of

Abram;

I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was

play'd,

And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

III.

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.

IV.

And now, though I must beg, with a wooden arm

and leg,

And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my

callet,

As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.

Lal de daudle, &c

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter

shocks,

Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,

When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

RECITATIVO.

He ended; and the kebars sheuk
Aboon the chorus roar;

While frighted rattans backward leuk,
And seek the benmost bore;
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
He skirl'd out encore !
But up arose the martial chuck,
And laid the loud uproar.

1 once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men:
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie;
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.

II.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade;
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade:
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

III.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch;
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church:
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body -
"Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c

V.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.

V.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
Till I met my auld boy at Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie.

VI.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c

And now I have lived I know not how long

And still I can join in a cup or a song;

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c

RECITATIVO.

'Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent sae weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hooked,
And had in monie a well been ducked