Be a lassie e'er sae black,

Gin she hae the penny siller,
Set her up on Tintock tap,

The wind will blaw a man till her.

Be a lassie e'er sae fair,

An' she want the penny siller,

A flie may fell her i' the air,

Before a man be even'd till her.

The first two stanzas of this song appeared in Herd's Collection. The song itself is mentioned by Allan Ramsay in the "Tea-Table Miscellany." The authorship has been claimed for the Rev. Dr. Strachan, minister of Carnwater; but he appears to have simply remodelled, and perhaps improved, the old song spoken of by Ramsay.

OUR GUDEMAN CAM' HAME AT E'EN.

ANONYMOUS. Herd's Collection, 1776. Air-" Our gudeman."
OUR gudeman cam' hame at e'en,

And hame cam' he;

And there he saw a saddle-horse
Where nae horse should be.
Oh, how cam' this horse here?
How can this be?

How cam' this horse here

Without the leave o' me?
A horse! quo' she;
Ay, a horse, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,
And blinder mat ye be!
It's but a bonnie milk-cow
My mither sent to me.
A milk-cow! quo' he;
Ay, a milk-cow, quo' shc.

Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;

But a saddle on a milk-cow

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en,

And hame cam' he;

He spied a pair o' jack-boots

Where nae boots should be. What's this now, gudewife? What's this I see?

How cam' thae boots here

Without the leave o' me?
Boots! quo' she;
Ay, boots, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,
And blinder mat ye be!
It's but a pair o' water-stoups
The cooper sent to me.
Water-stoups! quo' he;
Ay, water-stoups, quo' she,

Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;
But siller spurs on water-stoups

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en,
And hame cam' he;

And there he saw a siller sword
Where nae sword should be.
What's this now, gudewife?
What's this I see?

Oh, how cam' this sword here
Without the leave o' me?
A sword! quo' she;
Ay, a sword, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,
And blinder mat ye be!
It's but a parridge-spurtle

My minnie sent to me.

A parridge-spurtle, quo' he;
Ay, a parridge-spurtle, quo' she.

Weel, far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;

But siller-handed parridge-spurtles

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en,

And hame cam' he;

And there he spied a powder'd wig

Where nae wig should be. What's this now, gudewife? What's this I see?

How cam' this wig here

Without the leave o' me?
A wig! quo' she;
Ay, a wig, quo' he.

Ye auld blind dotard carle,
And blinder mat ye be!
"Tis naething but a clocken-hen
My minnie sent to me.

A clocken-hen! quo' he;
Ay, a clocken-hen, quo' she.

Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;

But powder on a clocken-hen

Saw I never nane.

Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en,
And hame cam' he;

And there he saw a muckle coat

Where nae coat should be.

How cam' this coat here?

How can this be?

How cam' this coat here?

Without the leave o' me?
A coat! quo' she;
Ay, a coat, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,

And blinder mat ye be!
It's but a pair o' blankets
My minnie sent to me.
Blankets! quo' he;
Ay, blankets, quo' she.
Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen;

But buttons upon blankets

Saw I never nane.

Ben gaed our gudeman

And ben gaed he;

This excellent old song has been claimed as English, but its whole character is evidently Scottish. Johnson, the editor of the Musical Museum," recovered the air, which had been lost, from the singing of a barber in Edinburgh, and printed it for the first time in his collection. There is another version with a denouement more suitable to the delicacy of the present age than that commonly sung, and in which the following stanza concludes the story :

Oh, hame cam' our gudeman at e'en,

An' ben ga'ed he;

An' he saw a muckie man

Where nae man should be

What's this now, gudewife?
Wha's this I see?

An' how cam' this man here
Without the leave o' me?

A man! quo' she;

Ay, a man, quo' he.

Oh, hooly, hooly, our gudeman!
An' dinna anger'd be ;

It's just our cousin Mackintosh
Come frae the North Countrie.

Cousin Mackintosh! quo' he:
Ay, Cousin Mackintosh, quo' she
Oh, ye'll hae us a' hang'd, gudewife,
I've een eneuch to see;

Ye're hidin' rebels in the house

Without the leave o' me.

THE BARRING O' THE DOOR.

From Herd's Collection. The song is sung to an English tune called "An old woman clothed in grey."

IT fell about the Martinmas time,

And a gay time it was than,

When our gudewife got puddings to mak',
And she boiled them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew east and north,

It blew into the floor;

Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
"Gae out and bar the door."

"My hand is in my hussy'f skap,

Gudeman, as ye may see;

An' it shou'd nae be barred this hundred year,
It's no be barr'd for me."

They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,

That whae'er should speak the foremost word

Shou'd get up and bar the door.

Then by there came twa gentlemen

At twelve o'clock at night,

And they could neither see house nor hall,

Nor coal nor candle light.

Now whether is this a rich man's house,

Or whether is it a poor?

But never a word wad ane o' them speak,
For barring o' the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,

And then they ate the black;

Though muckle thought the gudewife to hersel',
Yet ne'er a word she spak'.