OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Four excellent new songs

Dated from period of activity of publisher and internal evidence
FOUR EXCELLENT.
NEW SONGS,
viz.
The distressed Sailor on the Rocks of Scilly,
NELSON's VICTORY.
John Barleycorn,
Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch
Edinburgh: Printed by J. Morren.
* The Distressed Sailor on the Rocks of Scilly
* Nelson's Victory
* John Barleycorn
* Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four excellent new songs/The distressed sailor on the rocks of Scilly

The Distressed SAILOR on the Rocks of SCILLY.
COME, all you jolly sailors bold, That plough the raging main, And listen to my tragedy Whilst I relate the same. I parted with my wedded wife, Whom I did still adore. To the seas we were commanded, Where lofty billows roar, To the East Indies we were bound, Our course we then did steer, And along I still thought on, My lovely Molly dear. Sometimes on deck, sometimes aloft, Sometime I am below, But Molly she's still in my eye, Fond lore commands me so, She's charming, beautiful and fair, She’s all my souls delight, The brightest day appears to me, Like to the shade of night, By myself alone I sigh and moan, While others sport and play. Were Molly she along with me, It would be always day. My very heart’s lodg'd in her breast, Which does increase my pain. Both night and day I do think still, We ne'er shall meet again. ​When we our loading had receiv'd, And were from England bound, We little thought it was our fate, On Scilly rocks drown. On the rocks of Scilly we were cast, By the tempest of the main. Of all our good ships jolly crew, But four could reach the land. We had not sail’d a day but seven, When the storm began to rise, The swelling seas ran mountains high, And dismal were the skies, Aloft, aloft, our boatswain cries, Each man his post observe. And reef your sails both fore and aft, Our ship and lives to save. To the top then cries our Captain bold, And he that first sees land, For his reward he will receive, The sum of fifty pound. To the top then went our boatswain’s mate, To the main top so high, He looked around on every side, But no land he could spy, In head of us a light he saw, Which did our spirits cheer, Take courage hearts of gold he cries, Some harbours we are near. About your ship the boatswain cries, And of the rocks keep clear, For in the deep we will remain, Until the day appear. ​Sail on, sail on our Captain cries We’re right before the wind, For by the light that we have seen, We are not far from land, But as we sail’d before the wind, And thought all dangers past, On the rocks of Scilly, we poor souls, That fatal night was cast, The first stroks that our ship did get, Our captain he did cry. The Lord have mercy our souls, For in the deep we die, Of eighty jolly sailors bold, But four could reach the shore, Our gallant ship in pieces split, And never was seen more. But when the news to Plymouth came, Our gallant ship was lost. This caused many sailors fear, The danger of that coast Now Molly dear she may lament, For the loss of her sweetheart By the tempest of that stormy wind. The deep their love did part, When Molly heard the fatal news, Her tender heart did break, And like a faithful lover she, Died for her lover’s sake.
# Four excellent new songs/Nelson's victory

LORD NELSON's VICTORY.
COME all you gallant heroes bold, and listen unto me, ​Whilst I relate a Battle, which was lately fought at sea. So fierce and hot upon each side. As plainly doth appear; There’s not been such a battle, No, not these many years. Brave Nelson, and brave Colinwood, Off Cadiz harbour lay, Watching the French and Spaniards, To shew them British play, The nineteenth of October, From the bay they did set sail. Brave Nelson got intelligence, And soon was at their tail. It was on the twenty first my boys, We had them clear in sight, And on that very day at noon, Began that Bloody fight. Our fleet into two columns form'd, We soon broke thro' their line. To spare the use of signals. Was Nelson's bold design. But now the voice of thunder, Is heard on every side : The briny waves like crimson, With human blood was dy'd The French and Spanish heroes, Their courage well did shew, But our brave British sailors, Soon brought their Colours low. Four hours and ten minutes, This battle it did hold, ​And on the briny ocean, Men never fought more bold. But on the point of victory, Brave Nelson he was slain. And in the mind of Britions, His death shall long remain, Nineteen sail of the enemies. Were taken and destroy'd. You see the rage of Britions, Are not to be annoyed, In ages yet hereafter, We’ll have it still to tell, The twenty first of October, Our gallant Nelson fell, I hope their wives and children, Will quickly find relief, For the loss of their brave heroes, Their hearts were fill’d with greif. And may our warlike Officers, Aspire to such a fame, And revenge the death of Nelson, Whilst we record his name.
# Four excellent new songs/John Barleycorn

JOHN BARLEYCORN,
JOHN Barleycorn is the rarest grain,
that e'er was sown in land. It is far better then any other grain, by the turning of our hand. Ladley lal lal, toll, &c. Their came three lords from the North, and swore they were very dry, ​And they have sworn a solemn oath, that the Barleycorn should die. They ploughed him down with strong irons and put the plough cloth under their head. And swore another solemn oath, that Barleycorn was deod But when spring of the year came on, after rain and snow did fall, The Barleycorn got up his head, and so beguil'd them all. They hired men with crooked hooks, to cut him of his feet, And they did worse then that again, for they tied him like a thief. They hired men with long spear staves, and they pierced him through the heart And they did worse then that again, for they tied him to cart, They hired men with long flail staves to threash the flesh off the bones, And the Miller lad used him worse then that, for he ground him between two stones, Fill him up in sacks brave boys, and brew him in a pan, And when he came to the brown bowl, he became the strongest man, It would make a maid for to dance, as naked as the hour she was born, It would make her join a jobe of work, that raging Barleycorn. It would change a boy unto a man, ​and a man into an ass, It would change your gold all into silver, and your silver unto brass. It would make a huntsman kill a fox, without winding his horn. It would put a tinkler into stocks, that raging Barleycorn. Ledley lal, &c.
# Four excellent new songs/Roy's wife of Aldivalloch

ROY’s WIFE of ALDIVALLOCH
ROY’S wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aidivalloch, Wat ye how she cheated me. As I came owre the braes o’ Balloch.
She vow’d she swore she wad be mine. She said she lo'ed me best of ony, But oh! the fickle faithless quean, She's ta'en the carle and left her Johnny,
O she was a canty quean, And well cou'd dance a Highland walloch How happy I had she been mine, Or I’d been Roy of Aldivalloch,
Her face sae fair, her een sae clear, Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonny, To me it ever will be dear, Tho’ she’s for ever left her Johnny.
F I N I S.
# Musical garland/The trumpet of glory

THE
MUSICAL GARLAND.
The Trumpet of Glory.
Oh! think, when the hero is sighing, What danger in such an adorer! What woman can dream of denying The hand that lays laurels before her? No heart is so guarded around, But the smile of a victor will take it; No bosom can slumber so soon. But the trumpet of glory will wake it!
Love sometimes is given to sleeping, And woe to the heart that allows him! For, ah! neither smiling nor weeping Have pow’r, at these moments, to rouse him! But tho' he were sleeping so fast, That the life almost seenrd to forsake Believe me, one soul-thrilling blast From the trumpet of glory, would wake him!
# Musical garland/Jessy and the rose

Jessy and the Rose.
The Rose that blooms upon the bush, And sheds it’s fragrance round, Must yield to Jessie’s charms at once, If she but trip the ground.
The dimple on her modest cheek, Amidst the Rose’s hue, And the fond heart beats in her breast, Declares that she is true.
How bright the ev’ning Star doth rise, How mild the fanning gale, When Jessie’s link'd into my arm, In pleasure’s bark I sail.
The snow in whiteness falleth short, To that of Jessie’s skin, Yet, still her better part's unseen, And hid her breast within.
Her eye the fire of love displays, And when she speaks, I hear, Pure sentiments of sense sublime, Which ravishes my ear.
And when she walks how straight she goes. Her feet how neat, and small, Proportion fine her ancles show, She’s neither low nor 'tall.
Except herself there’s none on earth, Perfection can display, Her Soul is from the purest source, Her body best of clay.
​Ye Grecian daughters! fam’d of old, If ye my Jessie saw, You’d hide yourselves, and be asham’d, My Jessie dings you a’.
# Musical garland/Charlie is my darling

Charlie is my Darling.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling Oh, Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier.
‘Twas on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, When Charlie eame to our town, The young Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c,
​As he came marching up the street, The pipes play'd loud and clear, And a‘ the folk came running out, To meet the Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
Wi' Highland bonnets on their heads, And claymore's bright and clear, They came to fight for Scotland's right, And the young Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
They've left their bonny Highland hills, Their wives and bairnies dear, To draw the sword for Scotland's lord, The young Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
# Musical garland/Roy's wife of Aldivalloch

Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloeh, Roy's wife of Aldivalloeh, Ken ye how she eheated me, As I cam by the braes o' Balloch.
She vow'd, she swore she would be mine, And swore she lo'd me best of ony, But Oh! the fickle, faithless quean, She's ta'en the earle and left her Johnnie. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c. But Oh! the fickle, faithless ⟨quean⟩, She's ta'en the carle and left her Johnnie.
​Aye she was a canty quaen, And weel could dance a highland walloch, Happy I, had she been mine, Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c Happy I, had she been mine, Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch.
He face sae fair, her e'en sae clear, Her wee bit mou' was aye sae bonny, To me she ever shall prove dear, Tho' she's for ever left her Johnnie. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c. To me she ever shall prove dear, Tho' she's for ever left her Johnny.
# Musical garland/A soldiers gratitude

A Soldiers gratitude.
Whate'er my fate, wheree'er I roam, By sorrow still opprest, I‘ll ne'er forget the peaceful hmoe, That gave a wand'rer rest. Then ever rove life's sunny banks, By sweetest flow'rets strew'd, Still may you claim a soldier's thanks, A soldiers gratitude.
The tender sigh, the balmy tear, That meek eyed Pity gave, My last expiring hour shall cheer, And bless the wand'rer's grave. Then ever rove life's sunny banks, By sweetest flow'rets strew'd, Still may you claim a soldier‘s thanks, A soldier's gratitude.
# Musical garland/How joyous is a country life

How joyous is a Country life
⟨How⟩ joyous is a country life, When fields are green and gay! ⟨How⟩ happily a farmer’s wife May pass her time away! ⟨When⟩ hay is in, and harvest done, What heartfelt joy to see, ⟨The⟩ nymphs and swains together run, And foot it merrily.
And here skipping, There tripping Lads and lasses come, With here's a hand, And there's a hand, To keep up Harvest home.
⟨And⟩ when from storms of chilling snow, The trembling leaves retire, ⟨How⟩ cheerly ’tis to feel the glow, Where burns the cottage fire. ⟨When⟩ rustic suitors archly tell, In listening beauty’s ear, ⟨Some⟩ village tale of what befell, When lately bloom'd the year.
And here skipping, There tripping, Lads and lasses free. On moon light green, Were often seen To dance in frolic glee.
# Musical garland/My Ellen, alas! is no more

My Ellen, alas! is no more.
Blow, blow, ye bleak winds o'er the hill— Rush, ye rains of the night, down the vale,— May a torrent inundate each rill. And a hurricane roar in each gale: Flash, lightnings, and pierce my poor brain! Roll, thunders, in terrible roar! For my Ellen, the pride of the plain, My Ellen, alas! is no more.
Be barren each blossom of spring— Be blighted each fruit of the earth— Let sorrow strike every string, And drown the wild musie of mirth! Be each mariner wreck'd on the main— Be his cries the long song on the shore— For my Ellen, the pride of the plain, My Ellen, alas! is no more.
All night let me wander alone, Be the bat in yon cloister my friend, Let the night-bird instruct me to moan, And all nature in silence attend. To me consolation is vain, The wide world is a desolate shore, For my Ellen, the pride of the plain, My Ellen, alas! is no more.
# Musical garland/My love she's but a lassie yet

My Love she's but a Lassie yet.
My love she's but a lassie yet, My love she's but a lassie yet, We'll let her stand a year or twa, She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
​I rue the day I sought her O, I rue the day I sought her O ; Wha gets her need na say he's woo’d, But he may say he‘s bought her O.
Come draw a drap o‘ the best o‘t yet, Come draw a drap o‘ the best o‘t yet; Gae seek for pleasure whare ye will, But here I never mist it yet.
We'er a‘ dry wi‘ drinking o't, We‘er a‘ dry wi‘ drinking o‘t; The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, He couldna preach for thinkin o't.
# Musical garland/Robin Adair

Robin Adair.
Welcome on shore again, Robin Adair. Welcome once more again, Robin Adair. I feel thy trembling hand, Tears in thy eye-lids stand, To greet thy native land, Robin Adair.
Long I ne'er saw thee, love, Robin Adair. Still I pray for thee, love, Robin Adair. When thou wert far at sea, Many made love to me, But still I thought on thee, Robin Adair.
​Come to my heart again, Robin Adair; Never to part again, Robin Adair. And if thou still are true, I will be constant too, And will wed none but you, Robin Adair.
# Musical garland/O Life is like a summer flower

O Life is like a summer flower.
Oh! life is like a summer flower, Blooming but to wither; Oh! love is like an April shower, Tears and smiles together: And hope is but a vipour light, The lovers worst deceiver; Before him now it dances bright, And now is gone for ever.
Oh! joy is but a passing ray, Lovers hearts beguiling; A gleam that cheers a winter’s day, Just a moment smiling; But though in hopeless, dark despair, The thread of life may sever; Yet while it beats, dear maid, I swear, My heart is thine forever.
FINIS.
# The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher

HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER.
TUNE—'BALINAMONA ORA.'
# Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher

* "Hey for a lass wi' a tocher", in Jim Crow (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Hey For a Lass Wi' a Tocher", in Tak your auld cloak about ye (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Hey for a lass wi' a tocher", in Seven Select Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Hey for a Lass Wi' a Tocher", in Neil Gow's Fareweel (1821), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Hey for a lass", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
* "Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher", in The Poetical Works of Robert Burns (1887), edited by Alexander Smith
# The Book of Scottish Song/Hey for a lass

Hey for a lass.
[Written by Burns for George Thomson's collection, to an Irish tune, called "Balinamona Ora." "Your 'Hey for a lass wi' a tocher,'" says Thomson, "is a most excellent song, and with you the subject is something new indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and guineas." We have placed this song of Burns's in juxtaposition with one on a similar subject and in a similar spirit by Ramsay, that the reader may indulge his curiosity by comparing the two. In this case, we think, the older poet surpasses his distinguished successor in vigour and humour.]
Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms; O, gi'e me the lass that has acres o' charms, O, gi'e me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms! Then, hey for a lass wi' a tocher, Then, hey for a lass wi' a tocher, Then, hey for a lass wi' a tocher! The nice yellow guineas for me!
Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows; But the rapturous charms o' the bonnie green knowes, Ilk spring they're new-deckit wi' bonnie white ewes.
And e'en when this beauty your bosom has bless'd, The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possess'd; But the sweet yellow darlings, wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye ha'e them, the mair they're carest.
# Tak your auld cloak about ye (3)/Tak Your Auld Cloak About Ye

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.
In winter when the rain rain'd cauld, And frost and snaw on ilka hill, And Boreas, wi’ bis blasts sae bauld, Was threat’ning a’ our kye to kill: Then Bell, my wife, wha loves nae strife, She said to me, right hastily, Get up, gudeman! save Crummy’s life, And tak’ your auld cloak about ye!
My Crummy is an usefu’ cow, {{em}And she is come of a good kin’; Aft has she wet the bairns’s moa’, And I am laith that she should tine, Get up, gudeman t it is fn’ time, The sun shines i' the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious erft!, Gae, tak’ your auld cloak about ye.
My cloak was once a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear, But now it s scanty worth a groat, For I hae worn t this thirty year. Let's spend the gear that we hae worn, We little ken the day we’ll hae;
Then I'll be proud, wife I hae sworn; To hae a new cloak about me.
​In days when our-king Robert rang; His trews they cost but half-a-crown; He said they were a groat owre dear, An' ca'd the tailor thief and loun. . He was the king that wore a crown, And thou'rt a man o' low degree; It's pride puts a' the country down, Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye.
Ev'ry land has its ain laugh, Ilk kind of' corn has its ain hool; I think the world is a' run wrang, When ilka wife her man wad rule. Do you not see Bob, Jock, and Hab, How they are girded gallantly, While I sit hurklin in the ase? I'll hae a new cloak about me!
Gudeman! I wat 'tis thirty year, Sin' we did ane anither ken; And we hae had, atween us twa, O'lads and bonny lasses ten: Now they are women grown and men, I wish and pray weel may they be; And if you prove a good husband, E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye,
Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife, But she wad guide me if she can; And to maintain an easy life, I aft man yield, tho' I'm gudeman. Nought's to be won at woman's hand, Unless ye gie her a' the plea; Then I'll leave aff whare I began, And tak my auld cloak about me.
# Tak your auld cloak about ye (3)/The Bonny Brucket Lassie

THE BONNY BRUCKET LASSIE.
The bonny brucket lassie, I saw her late yestreen; She was the fairest lassie, That danced on the green. A lad he lo‘ed her dearly, She did his love return; But be his vows has broken, And left her for to mourn.
My shape, she says, was handsome, My face was fair and clean, But now I‘m bonny brucket, Oblig‘d to ly my lane. My eyes were bright and sparkling, Before they changed their hue; But now they're dull with weeping, And a' my love, for you.
My person it was comely, My shape they said was neat; But now I am quite changed, My stavs they winna meet. A' night I' sleeped soundly, My mind was never sad; But now my rest is broken, Wi‘ thinking on my lad.
O could I live in darkness, Or hide me in the sea, Since my love is unfaithful, And has forsaken me.
​No other love I suffer'd, Within my breast to dwell; In nought I have offended. But loving him too well.
Her lover heard her mourning, As by he chanc'd to pass; And press'd unto his bosom, The lovely brucket lass. My dear, he said, cease grieving, Since that your love's so true, My bonny brucket lassie, I'll faithful prove to you.
# Tak your auld cloak about ye (3)/Donald's Visit to Auld Reekie

DONALD’S VISIT TO AULD REEKIE.
An-auld Hieland couple sat lone by the ingle, While smoking their cuttie and cracking awa; They spak o' langsyne, their daffing whan single, The pranks o’ their childhood, their auld age and a’. To his wife he bragg'd a’ his bauldest o’ actions, When be was a sodger for Geordie the Third; How the fae fell afore him—the leader o’ factions; And Donald he grat whan his fae kiss’d the yird.
Yet Donald was bless’d, and his wife heard wi' pleasure His stories o’ dangers, his brulzies and toils; My Country!” he cried, “is my best dearest, treasure. And, Mary, thou’rt next—for l lo e thy saft smiles.” These puir happy bodies—their broom-cover d dwalling Stood far frae the warl’, its tidings and cares; Nae news ever reached their sung little cottage. Except whan a paegman stapp'd in wi' his wares.
​A droll gabbie packman cam in ae hairst morning, And he spak, while he dichted the sweat frae his brow; “Hech, Donald! ye'll no ken the King has arrived in Auld Scotland—the lzn' e' the bauld and the true." Then Donald’s heart looped wi’ joy at the tidings, And Mary did dance and Donald did sing: "Come, Mary, and gie me my bannet and plaidie, I'll be d—d if I dinna see Geordie our King!"
# Tak your auld cloak about ye (3)/When I Meet Wi' A Friend

WHEN I MEET WI' A FRIEND.
When I meet wi’ a friend that is honest, and true, We canna weel part without weeting our mou’; For 'mang a’ our troubles, our cares, and our griefs, A drap o' the creature aye brings us relief.
There some that has plenty they faki would ha’e mair, Though tae a poor body they naething can spare; Yet let poverty squire me up to the wa', I'd ne’er tine my credit whate’er may besa’.
My heart is sincere, open and free, Content wi what providence pleases to gi'e; For though I ha‘e little, without e'er a swither, I se aye gie a part to help a poor brither.
They may boast of their honour, their wealth and fame, But what is their honour, it's only a name; Their wealth and their spleander, how fair they may seem, May fade like a shadow, and break like a dream.
​Bift bear ye me now, and tak my advice. Least ye for your whistle gi‘e o'er big a price; Gae daunrin awa when your freedom's your' ain, 'For whiskey's a tyrant, his pleasure are vain.
# Tak your auld cloak about ye (3)/Should I Die

SHOULD I DIE.
Should I die by the force of good wine, ‘Tis my will that a ton by my shrine, And for ages yet to come, Let this be engrav d upon my tomb— Here lies a body, once so brave, That be by drinking made his grave, Sines tha to die will purchase fame, And raise us up a lasting name, Drink about, and dare to be nobly interr'd; Let misers and knaves Slink into their graves And rot in a dirty churchyard.
FINIS.
# Jim Crow/Hey for a lass wi' a tocher

HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER.
Awa wi’ your witchcraft o’ beauty’s alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms, ​O gie me the lass that has acres o’ charms, O gie me the lass wi the weel stockit farms.
Then hey for a lass wi’ a tocher, Then hey for a lass wi a tocher Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, The nice yellow guineas for me.
Your beauty’s a flower in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows: But the rapturous charm o’ the bonny green knowes, Ilk spring they’re new decked wi’ bonny white yowes. Then hey, &c.
And e’en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o’ beauty may cloy when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings wi’ Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them—the mair they’re carest. Then hey &c