Duncan was a lad o' grace,,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't:

Duncan could na be her death,

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;

Now they're crouse and canty baith,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Founded upon an old and licentious ballad of the same name, but having nothing in common with it but the chorus and the title. "Duncan Gray," says Burns to Thomson, "is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." "Duncan," says Thomson in reply," is a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body." The Hon. A. Erskine, in a letter to the poet. says, " Duncan Gray possesses native genuine humour. 'Spak o' low pin o'er a linn,' is a line that of itself should make you immortal."

CONTENTIT WI' LITTLE.

BURNS. Air-"Lumps o' pudding."

CONTENTED wi' little and cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gi'e them a skelp, as they're creeping alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats and an auld Scottish sang.

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:

My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch,

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',

A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a'

When at the blythe end of our journey at last,

Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has pass'd?

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae;
Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,
My warst word is, "Welcome, and welcome again!"

LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

BURNS. Air-" The Lothian lassie."

LAST May a braw wooer came down the lang glcn,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

I said there was naething I hated like men:
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me;
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

IIe spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked for Jean
The Lord forgi'e me for lying, for lying;
The Lord forgi'e me for lying!

A weel-stockit mailin, him sel' for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kend it or cared;

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers;
But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less-
The deil tak' his taste to gae near her!-

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess:

Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear her; Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her!

But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste of Dalgarnock;
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!

I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock;
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie;
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I speir'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin',

And how my auld shoon fitted her shachlet feet;
But heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin';
But heavens! how he fell a swearin'!

He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I would kill him wi' sorrow;

So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow;

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses 0;
The wisest man the world e'er saw
He dearly lo'ed the lasses O.

Green grow, &c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes 0;
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses O.
Green grow,

&c.

Founded on an old and licentious song with the same chorus.

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.

REV. JOHN SKINNER. Air-" Dumbarton's drums."

Oн, why should old age so much wound us O?
There is nothing in't all to confound us 0;
For how happy am I,

With my old wife sitting by,

And our bairns and our oes all around us O!

We began in the world wi' naething O,

And we've jogg'd on and toil'd for the ae thing 0; We made use of what we had,

And our thankful hearts were glad

When we got the bit meat and the claething O.

We have lived all our lifetime contented O,
Since the day we became first acquainted O;
It's true we've been but poor,

And we are so to this hour,

Yet we never pined nor lamented O.

We ne'er thought of schemes to be wealthy O,
By ways that were cunning or, stealthy O;
But we always had the bliss-

And what further could we wiss ?

To be pleased with ourselves and be healthy O.

What though we canna boast of our guineas O,
We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies O ;
And these I am certain are

More desirable by far

Than a pock full of yellow steenies O.

We've seen many a wonder and ferly O,
Of changes that almost are yearly O,
Among rich folk up and down,

Both in country and in town,

Who now live but scrimply and barely O.

Then why should people brag of prosperity O? A straiten'd life we see is no rarity 0;

Indeed, we've been in want,

And our living been but scant,

Yet we never were reduced to need charity O.

In this house we first came thegither O,
Where we've long been a father and mither O;
And though not of stone and lime,

It will last us a' our time,

And I hope we shall never need anither O.

JENNY'S BAWBEE.

SIR ALEX. BOSWELL, Bart.

I MET four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hinging lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bauldy Strang,
Wha's thae I see?

Quo' he, Ilk cream-faced pawky chiel
Thought he was cunning as the deil,
And here they cam' awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.

The first, a captain to his trade,

Wi' skull ill-lined, but back weel-clad,

March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And papp'd on his knee;