Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne? CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, From mornin' sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc. And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, etc. And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.

Burns.

WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN

'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year; Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down, And each shepherd woo'd his dear. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay: The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to." Jocky was a wag that never would wed, Though long he had follow'd the lass: Contented she earn'd and eat her brown bread, And merrily turn'd up the grass. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to." But when he vow'd he would make her his bride, Though his flocks and herds were not few, She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, And vow'd she'd for ever be true. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: At church she no more frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to."

Anon.

THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet, My soul I'll pour into thee.

Herrick.

TOM BOWLING

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew; No more he'll hear the tempest howling, For death has broach'd him to. His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft; Faithful below he did his duty. But now he's gone aloft. Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare; His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair: And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly; Ah, many's the time and oft! But mirth is turn'd to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches, In vain Tom's life has doff'd; For though his body's under hatches, His soul is gone aloft.

Charles Dibdin.

MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE

My love is like the red red rose That's newly sprung in June; My love is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run. But, fare thee weel, my only love, And fare thee weel awhile; And I will come again, my dear, Though 'twere ten thousand mile.

Burns.

WIDOW MALONE

Did you hear of the Widow Malone, Ohone! Who lived in the town of Athlone! Ohone! Oh, she melted the hearts Of the swains in them parts, So lovely the Widow Malone, Ohone! So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, Or more, And fortunes they all had galore, In store; From the minister down To the clerk of the crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mistress Malone, 'Twas known, That no one could see her alone, Ohone! Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne'er catch her eye, So bashful the Widow Malone, Ohone! So bashful the Widow Malone. Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,— How quare! It's little for blushing they care Down there, Put his arm round her waist— Gave ten kisses at laste— "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone, My own!" "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone." And the widow they all thought so shy, My eye! Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, For why? But "Lucius," says she, "Since you've now made so free, You may marry your Mary Malone, Ohone! You may marry your Mary Malone." There's a moral contained in my song, Not wrong, And one comfort, it's not very long, But strong,— If for widows you die, Learn to kiss, not to sigh, For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone! Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.

Charles Lever.

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