I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,

Brass button or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown or no!

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton."-
"Speak low, woman, speak low!"

40

MY BOY TAMMY

"WHAR hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy? Whar hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy?" "I've been by burn and flow'ry brae,

Meadow green and mountain grey,

Courtin' o' this young thing just come frae her Mammy."

"And whar gat ye that young thing, my boy Tammy?" "I gat her down in yonder howe,5

Smiling on a broomy knowe,&

Herding ae wee Lamb and Ewe for her poor Mammy."

"What said ye to the bonny bairn, my boy Tammy?"

"I hae a house, it cost me dear,

I've walth o' plenishen and gear,7

8

Yese get it a', war't ten times mair, gin ye will leave your Mammy.'

"The smile gaed aff her bonny face-'I mauna leave my Mammy!

She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claes,9

She's been my comfort a' my days,

My father's death brought mony waes-I canna leave my Mammy.'"

"We'll tak her hame and mak her fain, my ain kind-hearted Lammy,

We'll gie her meat, we'll gi'e her claes,

We'll be her comfort a' her days':

The wee thing gi'es her hand, and says, "There, gang and ask my Mammy.''

"Has she been to kirk wi' thee, my boy Tammy?"

"She has been to kirk wi' me,

And the tear was in her ee,

But Oh! she's but a young thing just come frae her Mammy."

In all thys world, as thynketh me,
Is none so plesaunt to my e'e,
That I am glad soo ofte to see,
As my swete swetyng.

When I behold my swetyng swete,
Her face, her hands, her minion fete,
They seme to me there is none so mete,
As my swete swetyng.

Above all other prayse must I,
And love my pretty pygsnye,

For none I fynd so womanly
As my swete swetyng.

44

SWEET STAY-AT-HOME

SWEET Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content,
Thou knowest of no strange continent:
Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep
A gentle motion with the deep;
Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas,
Where scent comes forth in every breeze.
Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow
For miles, as far as eyes can go;
Thou hast not seen a summer's night
When maids could sew by a worm's light;
Nor the North Sea in spring send out
Bright hues that like birds flit about
In solid cages of white ice-
Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place.
Thou hast not seen black fingers pick
White cotton when the bloom is thick,
Nor heard black throats in harmony;
Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie
Flat on the earth, that once did rise
To hide proud kings from common eyes.
Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom
Where green things had such little room