Wi' getting leave to dwall aside her;
And gin ye had her a' your ain,
Ye might na find it mows to guide her:
Ye 're wooing at her, fain wad hae her,
Courting her, will maybe get her;
Cunning quean, she 's ne'er be mine, as lang 's sae mony 's wooing at her.




THE STIPENDLESS PARSON.

TUNE--_"A Cobbler there was,"_ &c.


I.

How happy a life does the Parson possess,
Who would be no greater, nor fears to be less;
Who depends on his book and his gown for support,
And derives no preferment from conclave or court!
Derry down, &c.


II.

Without glebe or manse settled on him by law,
No stipend to sue for, nor vic'rage to draw;
In discharge of his office he holds him content,
With a croft and a garden, for which he pays rent.