"Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle,

And I'll lend you my thripling kame;
My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten,
And we'll gae dance the Bob-o-Dumblane.

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood,
Twa gaed to the wood, three came hame;
An' it be nae weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit,
An' it be nae we'll bobbit, we'll bob it again."

"I insert this song," says the poet, "to introduce the following anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated. At the close of the battle of Dumblane, a Scottish officer observed to the Duke of Argyle, that he was afraid the Rebels would give out to the world that they had won the victory. Weel, weel,' said his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, if they think it be nae weel bobbit-we'll bob it again." This is not one of the cleverest of Ramsay's productions; nor has he been able to escape wholly from the influence of the original : he laboured hard to keep within the limits of delicacy, but few will have the charity to think he has succeeded.

"O Bell, thy looks have kill'd my heart!
I pass the day in pain;

When night returns, I feel the smart,

-lot 9ft And wish for thee in vain.

bots I'm starving in cold, while thou art warm: daitto Have pity and incline,

And grant me for a hap that charm

you dang petticoat of thine.

My ravish'd fancy in amaze

"Still wanders o'er thy charms; Delusive dreams ten thousand ways

Present thee to my arms.

"But waking think what I endure,

While cruel you decline

Those pleasures, which can only cure
This panting breast of mine.

I faint, I fail, and wildly rove,
Because you still deny

The just reward that's due to love,

And let true passion die.

Oh! turn, and let compassion seize
That lovely breast of thine;
Thy petticoat could give me ease,
If thou and it were mine.

Sure heaven has fitted for delight
That beauteous form of thine;
And thou'rt too good its law to slight,
By hind'ring the design.

May all the pow'rs of love agree

At length to make thee mine,

Or loose my chains, and set me free
From ev'ry charm of thine!

This is certainly far from being one of Allan Ramsay's happiest songs, and I have introduced it for the purpose of saying something about the cause of his failure, and the character of the song which he sought to supplant. The ancient song of "Hap me wi' thy petticoat," like the song of "O! to be lying beyond thee," and many others, which delighted a ruder and less fastidious age, was more lively than delicate-was more kind than chaste; and every verse concluded by repeating the wish which gives the present name to the air. To express such a wish in elegant and decorous language might have been Allan's desire; but there was a difficulty in managing this very interesting garment, which he could not overcome; and every one must feel that he has touched it with a very awkward and unskilful hand.

The song which Lord Woodhouselee heard sung in the country, by nurses who wished to soothe their babes to sleep, was probably a parody on the verses which Ramsay had in his mind when he wrote this song. The old words began

O hap me wi' thy petticoat,
My ain kind thing.

HOW CAN I BE BLITHE.

How can I be blithe and glad,

Or in my mind contented be,

When the bonnie lad whom I love best
Is banish'd frae my companie ?
Though he be banished for my sake,
His true-love shall I still remain ;

O that I was, and I wish I was,
With thee, my own true-love again!

I dare but wish for thee, my love,

My thoughts I may not, dare not speak ;

My maidens wonder why I sigh,

And why the bloom dies on my cheek.

If thoughts of thee be sin in me,

O, deep am I in shame and sin;
O that I was, and I wish I was,

In the chamber where my love is in !

Another version of this song may be found in Wotherspoon's collection, very contradictory and corrupt. It seems to have been made up by an unskilful hand, from some old fragments. One of the verses condemns all innocent indulgence in the first two lines, but relaxes much in the two which succeed.

Kissing is but a foolish fancy,
It brings two lovers into sin-
O that I was, and I wish I was,
In the chamber where my love is in!!

Hard is the fate of him who loves,

Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, 01 Jager