Song—Bonie Dundee
My blessin’s upon thy sweet wee lippie! My blessin’s upon thy e’e-brie! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, Thou’s aye the dearer, and dearer to me! But I’ll big a bow’r on yon bonie banks, Whare Tay rins wimplin’ by sae clear; An’ I’ll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine, And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.
Extempore In The Court Of Session
Tune—“Killiercrankie.”
Lord Advocate He clenched his pamphlet in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till, in a declamation-mist, His argument he tint it: He gaped for’t, he graped for’t, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, He eked out wi’ law, man.
Mr. Erskine Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open’d out his arm, man; [Footnote 1: William Dunbar, W. S., of the Crochallan Fencibles, a convivial club.] His Lordship sat wi’ ruefu’ e’e, And ey’d the gathering storm, man: Like wind-driven hail it did assail’ Or torrents owre a lin, man: The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, Half-wauken’d wi’ the din, man.