A FRAGMENT.

CHORUS.

Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

GREEN GROW THE RASHES. The hearts o' men adore thee. The Deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee;

Green grow the rashes, O!
He'd look into thy bonie face,

Green grow the rashes, O!
And
say, “I canna wrang thee."

The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,
The Powers aboon will tent thee;

Are spent amang the lasses, O!
Misfortune sha'na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,

There's nought but care on ev'ry han'
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

In ev'ry hour that passes, 0;

What signifies the life o' man
Return again, fair Lesley,

An 'twere na for the lasses, 0?
Return to Caledonie!

Green grow, &c,
That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane agane sae bonie.

The warly race may riches chace,

An' riches still may fly them, O;

An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
JESSY.

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!
TUNE"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney,"

Green grow, &c.
CHORUS.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,

My arms about my dearie, 0;
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

An' warly cars, an' warly men,
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
And soft as their parting tear-Jessy !

Green grow, &c.
Although thou maun never be mine,

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Although even hope is denied;

Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0; 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

The wisest man the warl e'er saw,
Than aught in the world beside Jessy!

He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0.
Here's, &c.

Green grow, &c.
I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears As hopeless I muse on thy charms;

Her noblest work she classes, O: But welcome the dream o'sweet slumber,

Her 'prentice han’ she tried on man,
For then I am lockt in thy arms—Jessy!

An' then she made the lasses, O.
Here's, &c.

Green grow, &c.
I guess by the dear angel smile,

guess by the love-rolling e'e; But why urge the tender confession

CALEDONIA. 'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy!

TUNE_"Humours of Glen."
Here's, &c.

Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,

Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perLOVELY JEAN.

fume, TUNE_" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." Far dearer to me yon lone glen o'green breckan, Of a' the arts the wind can blaw,

Wi’the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives,

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen: The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, And monie a hill between ;

A-listening the linnet aft wanders my Jean. But day and night my fancy's flight

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, Is ever wi' my Jean.

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave: I sce her in the dewy flowers,

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud I see her sweet and fair:

palace, I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

What are they? The hauntof the tyrant and slave. I hear her charm the air:

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling foun There's not a bonie flower that springs

tains, By fountain, shaw, or green ;

The brave Caledonian views with disdain ; There's not a bonie bird that sings,

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, But ininds me o' my Jean.

Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

A BALLAD.

JOHN BARLEY CORN.

They laid him out upon the floor,

To work him farther woe,

And still, as signs of life appear'd,
There was three kings into the east,

They tossed him to and fro.
Three kings both great and high,
An' they ha' sworn a solemn oath,

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
John Barleycorn should die.

The marrow of his bones;

But a miller used him worst of all, They took a plough and plough'd him down,

For he crush'd him between two stones. Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath

And they ha' taen his very heart's blood, John Barleycorn was dead.

And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,
But the cheerful spring came kindly on,

Their joy did more abound.
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
And sore surpris’d them all.

Of noble enterprise,

For if you do but taste his blood, The sultry suns of summer came,

"Twill make your courage rise. And he grew thick and strong, His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,

'Twill make a man forget his woe; That no one should him wrong.

'Twill heighten all his joy;

'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, The sober autumn entered mild,

Though the tear were in her eye.
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Show'd he began to fail.

Each man a glass in hand;

And may his great posterity
His colour sicken'd more and more,

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
He faded into age,
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

SONG.
They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,

Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, And cut him by the knee;

Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar, Then tied him fast upon a cart,

There would I weep my woes, Like a rogue for forgerie.

There seek my lost repose, They laid him down upon his back,

Till grief my eyes should close,

Ne'er to wake more.
And cudgell'd him full sore ;
They hung him up before the storm,

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

All thy fond plighted vows fleeting as air? They filled up a darksome pit

To thy new lover hie, With water to the brim,

Laugh o'er thy perjury, They heaved in John Barleycorn,

Then in thy bosom try There let him sink or swim.

What peace is there.

PART III.

SONGS, &c.

CHIEFLY FROM

THE ANCIENT DRAMATIC AUTHORS.

5 A