No More Learning

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed--
Let simple maid the lesson read
The weird may be her ain, jo.
I tell you now, &c.

The bird that charm'd his summer day,
Is now the cruel Fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting, Woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo!
I tell you now, &c.




I'll Aye Ca' In By Yon Town

Air--"I'll gang nae mair to yon toun. "


Chorus--I'll aye ca' in by yon town,
And by yon garden-green again;
I'll aye ca' in by yon town,
And see my bonie Jean again.

There's nane sall ken, there's nane can guess
What brings me back the gate again,
But she, my fairest faithfu' lass,
And stownlins we sall meet again.
I'll aye ca' in, &c.

She'll wander by the aiken tree,
When trystin time draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
O haith! she's doubly dear again.
I'll aye ca' in, &c.




O Wat Ye Wha's In Yon Town

Tune--"I'll gang nae mair to yon toun. "


Chorus--O wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon,
The dearest maid's in yon town,
That e'ening sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
O wat ye wha's, &c.
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year;
And doubly welcome be the Spring,
The season to my Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha's, &c.

The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
Among the broomy braes sae green;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.
O wat ye wha's, &c.

Without my Fair, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But give me Jeanie in my arms
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!
O wat ye wha's, &c.

My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging Winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O wat ye wha's, &c.

O sweet is she in yon town,
The sinkin, sun's gane down upon;
A fairer than's in yon town,
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.
O wat ye wha's, &c.

If angry Fate is sworn my foe,
And suff'ring I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare, O spare me Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha's, &c.

For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
And she, as fairest is her form,
She has the truest, kindest heart.
O wat ye wha's, &c.




Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election, 1795

Ballad First

Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?