,
In care's bed, in care's bed;
The wren scho lyes in care's bed,
Wi' meikle dule and pyne, O.

When in cam' Robin Redbreist,
Redbreist, Redbreist;
When in cam' Robin Redbreist,
Wi' succar-saps and wine, O.

Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,
Taste o' this, taste o' this;
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,
It's succar saps and wine, O?

Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,
Robin, Robin:
Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,
Though it were ne'er sae fine, O.

And where's the ring that I gied ye,
That I gied ye, that I gied ye:
And where's the ring that I gied ye,
Ye little cutty-quean, O?

I gied it till an ox-ee,
An ox-ee, an ox-ee;
I gied it till an ox-ee,
A true sweetheart o' mine, O.

We began with the robin in this, I hope, not wearisome but entertaining
_Melange_ of child-songs. We have never, indeed, got at any time far
away from the lively and interesting little fellow; and, that being so,
perhaps no item could more fittingly close the series than the very old
song of

ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT.

Gude-day now, bonnie Robin,
How long have you been here?
I've been bird about this bush
This mair than twenty year!

But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier;
And I wad mak' my testament,
Gudeman, if ye wad hear.

Gae tak' this bonnie neb o' mine,
That picks upon the corn;
And gie't to the Duke o' Hamilton
To be a hunting-horn.

Gae tak' these bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my neb;
And gi'e to the Lady o' Hamilton
To fill a feather-bed.

Gae tak' this gude richt leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay;
It will be a post and pillar gude--
Will neither bow nor gae.

And tak' this other leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Weir;
It will be a post and pillar gude--
Will neither bow nor steer.

Gae tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail:
And gie to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.

And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my breast:
And gie to ony bonnie lad
Will bring to me a priest.

Now in there came my Lady Wren
Wi' mony a sigh and groan:
O what care I for a' the lads
If my ain lad be gone!

Then Robin turned him roundabout,
E'en like a little king;
Go; pack ye out o' my chamber-door,
Ye little cutty quean!

Robin made his testament