Samuel Lover.

SIMON THE CELLARER.

Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store
Of Malmsey and Malvoisie,
And Cyprus and who can say how many more? 
For a chary old soul is he,
A chary old soul is he;
Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail,
And all the year round there is brewing of ale;
Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day: 
But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go;
But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.

Dame Margery sits in her own still-room. 
And a Matron sage is she;
From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume,
She says it is Rosemarie,
She says it is Rosemarie;
But there’s a small cupboard behind the back stair,
And the maids say they often see Margery there. 
Now, Margery says that she grows very old
And must take a something to keep out the cold! 
But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
Where many a flask of his best doth go;
But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
Where many a flask of his best doth go.

Old Simon reclines in his high-back’d chair,
And talks about taking a wife;
And Margery often is heard to declare
She ought to be settled in life,
She ought to be settled in life;
But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue,
And she’s not very handsome, and not very young;
So somehow it ends with a shake of the head,
And Simon he brews him a tankard instead;
While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
What! marry old Margery? no no, no! 
While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!

        W.  H. Bellamy.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a’ the warld to sleep are gane,
The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee,
When my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie loo’d me wed, and socht me for his bride;
But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside. 
To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea,
And auld Robin Gray cam’ a-courtin’ me.

My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin;
I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintain’d them baith, and, wi’ tears in his ee,
Said “Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!”

My heart it said nay, for I look’d for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck;
The ship it was a wreck—­why didna Jamie dee? 
Or why do I live to say, Wae’s me?