No More Learning

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THE BRIDAL O'T.

This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander Ross, late schoolmaster at
Lochlee; and author of a beautiful Scots poem, called "The Fortunate
Shepherdess. "

"They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't,
They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't,
For he grows brawer ilka day,
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't:
For yesternight nae farder gane,
The backhouse at the side wa' o't,
He there wi' Meg was mirden seen,
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.

An' we had but a bridal o't,
An' we had but a bridal o't,
We'd leave the rest unto gude luck,
Altho' there should betide ill o't:
For bridal days are merry times,
And young folks like the coming o't,
And scribblers they bang up their rhymes,
And pipers they the bumming o't.

The lasses like a bridal o't,
The lasses like a bridal o't,
Their braws maun be in rank and file,
Altho' that they should guide ill o't:
The boddom o' the kist is then
Turn'd up into the inmost o't,
The end that held the kecks sae clean,
Is now become the teemest o't.

The bangster at the threshing o't.
The bangster at the threshing o't,
Afore it comes is fidgin-fain,
And ilka day's a clashing o't:
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat,
His linder for anither o't,
And e'er he want to clear his shot,
His sark'll pay the tither o't

The pipers and the fiddlers o't,
The pipers and the fiddlers o't,
Can smell a bridal unco' far,
And like to be the middlers o't;
Fan[293] thick and threefold they convene,
Ilk ane envies the tither o't,
And wishes nane but him alane
May ever see anither o't.

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't,
Fan they hae done wi' eating o't,
For dancing they gae to the green,
And aiblins to the beating o't:
He dances best that dances fast,
And loups at ilka reesing o't,
And claps his hands frae hough to hough,
And furls about the feezings o't. "

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TODLEN HAME.

This is perhaps the first bottle song that ever was composed.

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THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

This air is the composition of my friend Allan Masterton, in
Edinburgh. I composed the verses on the amiable and excellent family
of Whitefoords leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes had
obliged him to sell the estate.

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THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DADDIE O'T.
I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young
girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time
under a cloud.

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THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE.

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. --I don't know how it came by the name,
but the oldest appellation of the air was, "Whistle and I'll come to
you, my lad. "

It has little affinity to the tune commonly known by that name.

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THE BONIE BANKS OF AYR.

I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on the road to
Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica.

I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.

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JOHN O' BADENYON.

This excellent song is the composition of my worthy friend, old
Skinner, at Linshart.

"When first I cam to be a man
Of twenty years or so,
I thought myself a handsome youth,
And fain the world would know;
In best attire I stept abroad,
With spirits brisk and gay,
And here and there and everywhere,
Was like a morn in May;
No care had I nor fear of want,
But rambled up and down,
And for a beau I might have pass'd
In country or in town;
I still was pleas'd where'er I went,
And when I was alone,
I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself
Wi' John o' Badenyon.

Now in the days of youthful prime
A mistress I must find,
For _love_, I heard, gave one an air
And ev'n improved the mind:
On Phillis fair above the rest
Kind fortune fixt my eyes,
Her piercing beauty struck my heart,
And she became my choice;
To Cupid now with hearty prayer
I offer'd many a vow;
And danc'd, and sung, and sigh'd, and swore,
As other lovers do;
But, when at last I breath'd my flame,
I found her cold as stone;
I left the jilt, and tun'd my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.

When _love_ had thus my heart beguil'd
With foolish hopes and vain,
To _friendship's_ port I steer'd my course,
And laugh'd at lover's pain
A friend I got by lucky chance
'Twas something like divine,
An honest friend's a precious gift,
And such a gift was mine:
And now, whatever might betide,
A happy man was I,
In any strait I knew to whom
I freely might apply;
A strait soon came: my friend I try'd;
He heard, and spurn'd my moan;
I hy'd me home, and tun'd my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.

Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a _patriot_ turn,
Began to doat on Johnny Wilks,
And cry up Parson Horne.
Their manly spirit I admir'd,
And prais'd their noble zeal,
Who had with flaming tongue and pen
Maintain'd the public weal;
But e'er a month or two had past,
I found myself betray'd,
'Twas _self_ and _party_ after all,
For a' the stir they made;
At last I saw the factious knaves
Insult the very throne,
I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.