[14] Mr Graham, of Gartmore, an intimate friend of Hector Macneill, composed a song, having a similar burden, the chorus proceeding thus:—­

    “Then, tell me how to woo thee, love;
      Oh, tell me how to woo thee! 
    For thy dear sake nae care I’ll take,
      Though ne’er another trow me.”

This was published by Sir Walter Scott, in the “Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,” as a production of the reign of Charles I.

LASSIE WI’ THE GOWDEN HAIR.

Lassie wi’ the gowden hair,
Silken snood, and face sae fair;
Lassie wi’ the yellow hair,
Thinkna to deceive me. 
Lassie wi’ the gowden hair,
Flattering smile, and face sae fair,
Fare ye weel! for never mair
Johnnie will believe ye. 
Oh, no!  Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn;
Oh, no!  Mary Bawn, ye ’ll nae mair deceive me.

Smiling, twice ye made me troo,
Twice, poor fool!  I turn’d to woo;
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow;
Now I ’ve sworn to leave ye. 
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow;
Twice, poor fool!  I ’ve learn’d to rue;
Come ye yet to mak me troo? 
Thrice ye ’ll ne’er deceive me. 
No, no!  Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn;
Oh, no!  Mary Bawn; thrice ye ’ll ne’er deceive me.

Mary saw him turn to part;
Deep his words sank in her heart;
Soon the tears began to start—­
“Johnnie, will ye leave me?”
Soon the tears began to start,
Grit and gritter grew his heart;
“Yet a word before we part,
Love could ne’er deceive ye. 
Oh, no!  Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo;
Oh, no!  Johnnie doo—­love could ne’er deceive ye.”

Johnnie took a parting keek;
Saw the tears drap owre her cheek;
Pale she stood, but couldna speak—­
Mary ‘s cured o’ smiling. 
Johnnie took anither keek—­
Beauty’s rose has left her cheek;
Pale she stands, and canna speak. 
This is nae beguiling. 
Oh, no!  Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, dear Mary Bawn;
Oh, no; Mary Bawn—­love has nae beguiling.

COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE.

TUNE—­"Johnnie M’Gill."

    “Come under my plaidie, the night ‘s gaun to fa’;
      Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift, and the snaw;
    Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
      There ’s room in ’t, dear lassie, believe me, for twa. 
    Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
      I ’ll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw: 
    Oh, come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me! 
      There ’s room in ’t, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.”

    “Gae ‘wa wi’ your plaidie, auld Donald, gae ’wa,
      I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw;
    Gae ‘wa wi’ your plaidie, I ’ll no sit beside ye;
      Ye may be my gutcher;—­auld Donald, gae ’wa. 
    I ’m gaun to meet Johnnie, he ’s young and he ’s bonnie;
      He ‘s been at Meg’s bridal, fu’ trig and fu’ braw;
    Oh, nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu’, sae tightly! 
      His cheek ’s like the new rose, his brow ’s like the snaw.”