No More Learning

Tune--"_Young Jockey. _"

[With the exception of three or four lines, this song, though marked
in the Museum as an old song with additions, is the work of Burns. He
often seems to have sat down to amend or modify old verses, and found
it easier to make verses wholly new. ]


I.

Young Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa:
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue,
He roos'd my waist sae genty sma',
And ay my heart came to my mou'
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

II.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,
Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw;
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain,
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
An' ay the night comes round again,
When in his arms he takes me a',
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain,
As lang's he has a breath to draw.

* * * * *




LXXXIX.

O WILLIE BREW'D.

Tune--"_Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. _"

[The scene of this song is Laggan, in Nithsdale, a small estate which
Nicol bought by the advice of the poet. It was composed in memory of
the house-heating. "We had such a joyous meeting," says Burns, "that
Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the
business.
" The Willie who made the browst was, therefore, William
Nicol; the Allan who composed the air, Allan Masterton; and he who
wrote this choicest of convivial songs, Robert Burns. ]


I.

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan came to see:
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

II.

Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys, I trow, are we;
And mony a night we've merry been,
And mony mae we hope to be!

III.

It is the moon--I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee!

IV.

Wha first shall rise to gang awa',
A cuckold, coward loon is he!
Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
We are na fou, we're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

* * * * *




XC.

WHARE HAE YE BEEN.

Tune--_"Killiecrankie. _"

["This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "is in the Museum without
Burns's name.