My compliments to sister Beckie,
     And eke the same to honest Lucky;
     I wat she is a daintie chuckie,
     As e’er tread clay;
     And gratefully, my gude auld cockie,
     I’m yours for aye. 
     Robert Burns.

The Five Carlins

     An Election Ballad.

     Tune—­“Chevy Chase.”

     There was five Carlins in the South,
     They fell upon a scheme,
     To send a lad to London town,
     To bring them tidings hame.

     Nor only bring them tidings hame,
     But do their errands there,
     And aiblins gowd and honor baith
     Might be that laddie’s share.

     There was Maggy by the banks o’ Nith,
     A dame wi’ pride eneugh;
     And Marjory o’ the mony Lochs,
     A Carlin auld and teugh.

     And blinkin Bess of Annandale,
     That dwelt near Solway-side;
     And whisky Jean, that took her gill,
     In Galloway sae wide.

     And auld black Joan frae Crichton Peel,^1
     O’ gipsy kith an’ kin;
     Five wighter Carlins were na found
     The South countrie within.

     To send a lad to London town,
     They met upon a day;
     And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
     This errand fain wad gae.

     O mony a knight, and mony a laird,
     This errand fain wad gae;
     But nae ane could their fancy please,
     O ne’er a ane but twae.

     The first ane was a belted Knight,
     Bred of a Border band;^2
     And he wad gae to London town,
     Might nae man him withstand.

     And he wad do their errands weel,
     And meikle he wad say;
     And ilka ane about the court
     Wad bid to him gude-day.

     [Footnote 1:  Sanquhar.]

     [Footnote 2:  Sir James Johnston of Westerhall.]

     The neist cam in a Soger youth,^3
     Who spak wi’ modest grace,
     And he wad gae to London town,
     If sae their pleasure was.

     He wad na hecht them courtly gifts,
     Nor meikle speech pretend;
     But he wad hecht an honest heart,
     Wad ne’er desert his friend.

     Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse,
     At strife thir Carlins fell;
     For some had Gentlefolks to please,
     And some wad please themsel’.

     Then out spak mim-mou’d Meg o’ Nith,
     And she spak up wi’ pride,
     And she wad send the Soger youth,
     Whatever might betide.

     For the auld Gudeman o’ London court^4
     She didna care a pin;
     But she wad send the Soger youth,
     To greet his eldest son.^5

     Then up sprang Bess o’ Annandale,
     And a deadly aith she’s ta’en,
     That she wad vote the Border Knight,
     Though she should vote her lane.