A prince can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might-
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that and a' that;

Their dignities and a' that ;

The pith o' sense and pride o' worth

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it

As come it will for a' that,

may,

That sense and worth o'er a' the earth
May bear the gree and a' that.

For a' that and a' that,

It's comin' yet for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

In reference to this immortal song, founded on a more ancient and very inferior one, with the same burden, or "overlay," Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson:-"A great critic (Aikin) on songs says that love and wine are the exclusive themes for songwriting. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is no song; but will be allowed, I think, to contain two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme."

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

BURNS. Air-"Tibbie Fowler in the glen."
WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,
Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither.
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gi'e a button for her.

She has an ee, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour ; .
Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller;

A whiskin beard about her mou',

Her nose and chin they threaten ither.
Sic a wife, &c.

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter;
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther.
Sic a wife, &c.

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

An' wi' her loof her face a-washin; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels; Her face wad fyle the Logan-water. Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gï't a button for her.

MY SPOUSE NANCY.

BURNS. Air-"My jo Janet."

IIUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir;
Though I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir.

"One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy;

Is it man or woman, say,

My spouse Nancy ?"

If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience,

I'll desert my sovereign lord,
And so, good bye, allegiance.

"Sad will I be so bereft,

Nancy, Nancy;

Yet I'll try to make a shift,

My spouse Nancy."

My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it;

When you lay me in the dust,

Think, think, how you will bear it.

"I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;

Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy."

Well, sir, from the silent dead
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed,
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.

"I'll wed another like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;

Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy."

"Your humorous English song to suit Jo Janet' is inimitable."-Thomson, in a Letter to Burns.

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.

BURNS. Air-" Whistle o'er the lave o't."

FIRST when Maggie was my care,
Heaven I thought was in her air;
Now we're married-speir nae mair-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was Nature's child—
Wiser men than me's beguiled;

Whistle o'er the lave o't.

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I carena by how few may see;
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding-sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

TO DAUNTON ME.

Chiefly by BURNS.

THE bluid-red rose at Yule may blaw,
The summer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an old man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatterin' tongue,
That is the thing ye ne'er shall see ;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

For a' his meal, for a' his maut,

For a' his fresh beef and his saut,

For a' his gowd and white monie,

An auld man shall never daunton me.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee;

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

He hirples twa-fauld, as he dow,

Wi' his teethless gab and auld bauld pow,
And the rain rins doun frae his red-blear'd ee:

That auld man shall never daunton me.

The original of this song will be found among "Hogg's Jacobite Relics." The subject is a favourite one with the early and later Scottish song-writers.

DUNCAN GRAY.

BURNS.

DUNCAN Gray cam' here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

On blythe Yule night when we were fu', Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Maggie coost her head fu' high,

Look'd asklent and unco skeigh

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,

Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',

Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,

For a haughty hizzie dee?

She may gae to-France for me!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Meg grew sick as he grew well,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Something in her bosom wrings,

For relief a sigh she brings;

And, oh, her een they speak sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.