e on Somebody!
Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my Somebody.
Oh-hon! for Somebody!
Oh-hey! for Somebody!
I wad do--what wad I not?
For the sake o' Somebody!

WHISTLE, AND I 'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black ee,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, tho jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.

O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
O whistle, and I 'll come to ye, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad.

THE DE'IL'S AWA' WI' THE EXCISEMAN

THE De'il cam fiddling thro' the town,
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman;
And ilka wife cry'd 'Auld Mahoun,
We wish you luck o' your prize, man.

'We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man;
And monie thanks to the muckle black De'il
That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.

'There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
But the ae best dance that cam to our lan',
Was--the De'il 's awa wi' the Exciseman.

We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man;
And monie thanks to the muckle black De'il
That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.'

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS

LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie O?

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie O?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks . . .

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks . . .

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie O.
Lassie wi' the lint-