But, oh! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,

They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

And now a widow, I must mourn,
The pleasure's that will ne'er return ;
No comfort but a hearty can,

When I think on John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

RECITATIVO.

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle,

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle,
Her strappan limb and gausy middle,

He reach'd na higher.

Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,

An' blawn't on fire.

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e,
He croon❜d his gamut, one, two, three,
Then in an Arioso key,

The wee Apollo

Set off wi' Allegretto glee

His giga solo.

AIR.

Tune.-Whistle o'er the lave o't."

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, wi' me and be my dear,

And go

And then your every care and fear
May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.

I am a fiddler to my trade,
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
The sweetest still to wife or maid,
Was whistle owre the lave o't.

At kirns and weddings we'se be there,
And O! sae nicely's we will fare e;
We'll bouse about till Daddie Care
Sings whistle owre the lave o't
I am, &c.

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,
And sun oursells about the dyke,
And at our leisure, when ye like,
We'll whistle owre the lave o't.
I am &c.

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairms,

Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,

May whistle owre the lave o't.

I am, &c.

RECITATIVO.

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,

As weel as poor gut-scraper; He taks the fiddler by the beard, And draws a roosty rapier—

He swoor by a' was swearing worth,
To speet him like a pliver,

Unless he wad from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee
Upon his hunkers bended,
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
And sae the quarrel ended.

But tho' his little heart did grieve
When round the tinkler prest her,

He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
When thus the caird address'd her;

AIR.

Tune-" Clout the caudron."

My bonny lass, I work in brass,

A tinkler is my station:

I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation :

I've taen the gold, I've been enroll'd

In many a noble squadron:

But vain they search'd, when off I march'd and clout the caudron.

Το go

I've taen the gold, &c.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,

Wi' a' his noise and caprin,

And tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron.

And by that stoup, my faith and houp,
An' by that dear Keilbagie,*

If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,

May I ne'er weet my craigie

An' by that stowp, &c.

RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd-th' unblushing fair

In his embraces sunk,

Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,

An' partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair,

An' made the bottle clunk

To their health that night.

* A peculiar sort of whiskey.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft,

That play'd a dame a shavie,

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,
Tho' limping wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
And shor❜d them Dainty Davie

O boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade

As ever Bacchus listed,

Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish but-to be glad,
Nor want but-when he thirsted;
He hated nought but-to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested

His sang that night.

AIR.

Tune-" For a' that, an' a' that."

I am a bard of no regard,

Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that:

But Homer-like, the glowran byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.