AND SAE YE'VE TREATED ME.

And sae ye've treated me,
And sae ye've treated me;
I'll never love anither man
Sae weel as I loved thee.
All the day I sigh,

And all the night I weep;
And never shall I rest again
Save in a winding sheet.

And sae ye've treated me,
And sae ye've treated me;
O monie monie loves ye'll get,
But nane who loves like me.
A woman's curse fa's sair,

A woman's curse ye'll dree-
The diel put on your winding-sheet
Three hours before ye die!

[Eight lines of this singular song I find in Mr. Sharpe's Ballad Book. The others are by Allan Cunningham.j

ETTRICK BANKS.

On Ettrick banks, in a summer's night,
At gloaming when the sheep drave hame,

I met my lassie braw and tight,

Came wading, barefoot, a' her lane :

My heart grew light, I ran, I flang

My arms about her lily neck,

And kiss'd and clapp'd her there fu' lang; My words they were na mony feck.

I said, my lassie, will ye go

To the highland hills, the Erse to learn? I'll gi'e thee baith a cow and ewe,

When ye come to the brigg of Earn. At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash, And herrings at the Broomy Law; Chear up your heart, my bonny lass, There's gear to win we never saw.

All day when we have wrought enough,
When winter, frosts, and snaw begin,
Soon as the sun gaes west the loch,

At night when ye sit down to spin,
I'll screw my pipes and play a spring:
And thus the weary night will en',
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
Our pleasant summer back again.

Syne when the tress are in their bloom,
And gowans glent o'er ilka fiel',
I'll meet my lass amang the broom,
And lead you to my summer-shiel.
Then far frae a' their scornfu' din,

That make the kindly hearts their sport, We'll laugh and kiss, and dance and sing, And gar the langest day seem short.

[From the Tea Table Miscellany.]

SAW YE JOHNIE COMING.

O saw ye Johnie coming, quo' she,
Saw ye Johnie coming;

O saw ye Johnie coming, quo' she,
ye Johnie coming :

Saw

Wi' his blue bonnet on his head,
And his doggie running, quo' she,
And his doggie running.

O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him;

O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him;

For he is a gallant lad,

And a weel doin';

And a' the wark about the town

Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she,

Gaes wi' me when I see him.

O what will I do wi' him, hizzie,'
What will I do wi' him?
He's ne'er a 'sark' upon his back,
And I hae nane to gi'e him.
I hae twa sarks' into my kist,
And ane o' them I'll gi'e him
And for a merk of mair fee
Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she,
Dinna stand wi' him.

;

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she,
Weel do I lo'e him;

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she,

Weel do I lo'e him.

O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,

Fee him, father, fee him;

He'll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn,
And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she,
And crack wi' me at e'en.

["This is a very old and a very admirable song. Burns praises it for the genuine humour of the delineation: it is an unconscious humour, the humour of simplicity, always the richest and happiest." -ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

First published by Herd in 1769.]

HEY, HOW MY JOHNIE LAD.

Hey, how my Johnie lad,

Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been ;
For gin ye're voice I had na kent,
I'm sure I couldna trust my een:
Sae weels ye might hae courted me,
And sweetly touzled me bedeen :
Hey, how my Johnie lad,

Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been.

My father, he was at the moor;

My mither, she was at the mill;
My brother, he was at the plough,
And no ane near our sport to spill:

A lug to listen was na there,

And still less fear o' being seen:
Hey, how my Johnie lad,

Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been.

Wad ony lad who lo'ed me weel

Hae left me a' my liefu' lane,

To count the minutes as they crawled,

And think life's sweetest moments gane.

I wonder what was in ye're head,
I wonder what was in ye're een :
Hey, how my Johnie lad,

Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been.

But I shall seek some other lad,

Whose love is upmost in his mind;
As gleg as light; wha has the sleight
O' kenning when he should be kind,
Then ye may woo wi' blinkin Bess-
For you nae mair I'll sigh and grean :
Hey, how my Johnie lad,

Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been.

From Herd's Collection, 1776, with a few emendations by Mr. Cunningham.]

AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING.

An thou wert my ain thing,

I would love thee, I would love thee;

An thou wert my ain thing,

How dearly would I love thee!