Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/537

Rh I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride,

I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;

For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,

And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.

Tho' my lassie ha'e nae scarlets or silks to put on,

We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;

I wad rather ha'e my lassie, tho' she cam' in her smock,

Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.

Tho' we ha'e nae horses or menzie at command,

We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand:

And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot,

And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.

If we ha'e ony babies, we'll count them as lent;

Ha'e we less, ha'e we mair, we will aye be content;

For they say they ha'e mair pleasure that wins but a groat,

Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't.

I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen;

They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim;

On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote,

Sae tak' this for the gear and the blaithrie o't.

[" o'er the burn, sweet Betty," is the name of an old Scottish tune to which we have different words. There must have been an old English song with a similar burthen, as the following verse is quoted in King Lear, Act iii. Scene vi.

"Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me:

Her boat hath a leak

And she must not speak,

Why she dares not come over to thee."

We give here two sets of the old words, the first on the authority of Burns, the second on that of Motherwell.]

o'er the burn, sweet Betty;

It is a cauld winter night,—

It rains, it hails, and it thunders,

The moon she gi'es nae light.

It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty

That ever I tint my way:

O lassie, let me creep ayont thee,

Until it be break o' day.

It's Betty shall bake my bread,

And Betty shall brew my ale;

And Betty shall be my love,

When I come over the dale.

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty,

Blink over the burn to me;

And while I ha'e life, my dear lassie,

My ain sweet Betty thou's be.

over the burn, sweet Betty,

Blink over the burn to me;

I would gi'e a' I had in the warld

But to be a widow for thee.

In summer I mawed my meadow,

In hairst I shure my corn,

In winter I married a widow,

I wish she was dead the morn.

Blink, &c.

The youth he was wamphlin' and wandy

The lassie was quite fu' o' glee,

And aye as she cried to the laddie,

Come down bonnie Tweedside to me.

Blink, &c.

Come meet me again ne'er to sever,

Come meet whare nae body can see,

I canna think ye're a deceiver,

And mean but to lichtlie me.

Blink, &c

[" following song, to the tune of "Blink over the burn, sweet Betty," was written by, early in the last century. We have given a short notice of Mitchell in a previous Note.]

kindred and friends, sweet Betty,

Leave kindred and friends for me:

Assur'd thy servant is steady

To love, to honour, and thee.