19
A SCOTS SANG,
Written by the Ettrick Shepherd, for the Edinburgh Literary Journal. Music composed by a Gentleman of Glasgow. Sung by Mr Mackay.
I ha'e lost my love, an' I dinna ken how,
I ha'e lost my love, an' I carena;
For laith will I be just to lie down an' dee,
And to sit down and greet wad be bairnly
ut a screed o' ill nature I eanna weel help,
At having been guidit unfairly;
An' weel wad I like to gi'e women a skelp,
An' yerk their sweet haffets fu' yarely.
O! plague on the limmers, sae sly an' demure,
As pawkie as de'ils wi' their smiling
As fickle as winter, in sunshine and shower,
The hearts of a' mankind beguiling;
As sour as December, as soothing as May,
To suit their ain ends never doubt them;
Their ill fau'ts I couldna tell ower in a day,
But their beauty's the warst thing about them
Ay, that's what sets up the hale warld in a lowe-
Makes kingdoms to rise an' expire;
Man's might is nae mair than a flaughten o' tow,
Opposed to a bleeze o' reid fire!
'Twas woman at first made creation to bend,
And of nature's prime lord made the pillow!
An' 'tis her that will bring this ill warld to an end.
An' that will be seen an' heard tell o'!
THE MOON ON THE OCEAN.
The moon on the oeean was dimmed by a ripple,
Affording a chequered light,
The gay jolly tars passed the word for the tipple
And the toast, for 'twas Saturday night.
Some sweetheart or wife,
He loved as his life,
Each drank, and wished he could hail her;
But the standing toast to
That pleased the most,
Was, "The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor."
