n his
juvenile aspirations. He was apprenticed to a weaver in Paisley, and
continued, with occasional intermissions, to prosecute the labours of
the loom. His life was much chequered by misfortune. Fond of society, he
was led to associate with some dissolute persons, who professed to be
admirers of his genius, and was enticed by their example to neglect the
concerns of business, and the duties of the family-hearth, for the
delusive pleasures of the tavern. From his youth he composed verses. In
1835, he published, in numbers, a volume of poems and songs, with the
title, "Original Scottish Rhymes." His style is flowing and graceful,
and many of his pieces are marked by keen satire and happy humour. The
songs inserted in the present work are favourable specimens of his
manner. He died on the 22d January 1837, in his fiftieth year.[26]

[26] The present memoir is condensed from a well written biographical
sketch of Webster, obligingly prepared for our use by Mr Charles
Fleming, of Paisley.

TAK IT, MAN, TAK IT.

TUNE--_"Brose and Butter."_

When I was a miller in Fife,
Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer
Said, Tak hame a wee flow to your wife,
To help to be brose to your supper.
Then my conscience was narrow and pure,
But someway by random it racket;
For I lifted twa neivefu' or mair,
While the happer said, Tak it, man, tak it.
Hey for the mill and the kill,
The garland and gear for my cogie,
Hey for the whisky and yill,
That washes the dust frae my craigie.

Although it 's been lang in repute
For rogues to mak rich by deceiving,
Yet I see that it does not weel suit
Honest men to begin to the thieving;
For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt,
Oh! I thought ilka dunt it would crack it;
Sae I flang frae my neive what was in 't,
Still the happer said, Tak it, man, tak it.
Hey for the mill, &c.

A man that 's been bred to the plough,
Might be deaved wi' its clamorous clapper;
Yet there 's few but would suffer the sough
After kenning what 's said by the happer.
I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn,
Saying, Shame, is your conscience no checkit?
But when I grew dry for a horn,
It changed aye to Tak it, man, tak it.
Hey for the mill, &c.

The smugglers whiles cam wi' their pocks,
Cause they kent that I liked a bicker