A MAIDEN I was at the age of sixteen, From my parents run away and a soldier I became; I listed in a regiment, a drummer I become, Where I learned for to beat upon my rub a-dub a_dum.

My hat, cap and feather, if you had but seen, A noble duke of York at the siege of Al- lenseine; The drum boys all admired me, my fingers neat and small, I could beat upon my drum a-drum the best of them all.

Many is the prank I have play'd in the field, And many a proud Frenchman I caus'd for to yield; My officers they guarded me for fear I should be slain, And they sent me to old England recruiting back again.

Every night when to my quarters I came, To lie with a soldier I was not asham'd; When pulling off my small clothes, to my- self did often smile, To think I lay with a soldier, a maid all the while.

They sent me up to London to keep guard over the tower, Or I should have been a maid until this very day and hour. A lady fell in love with me, I told her I was a maid, And she unto my officer the secret betray'd.

My officers they came to me to know if it was true, I said sir, what you ask me, I cannot deny to you; He smil'd at me and said, my pretty maid, It is a pity that we should loose such a drummer as you made.

For your good behaviour at the siege of Allenseine, A bounty shall on you be laid by our noble queen. And now I have a husband, a drummer he's become, And I learn him for to beat upon my rub a-dub, a dum.

Here is a health to me, and another to you, And every young man that sticks to his colours true; And if the Duke is short of men before he should be slain, So boldly I would march away and fight for him again.

The Blue Bell of Scotland.

OH where, and oh where is your high- land laddie gone? He's gone to fight the French for king George upon the throne, And its oh in my heart I wish him safe at home.

Oh! where, and oh where did your high- land laddie dwell? He dwelt in merry Scotland at the sign of the Blue Bell, And its oh in my heart I love my laddie well

In what clothes, in what clothes is your highland laddie clad? His bonnet's of the Sexton green, and his waistcoat's of the plaid, And its oh in my heart I love my highland lad.

Suppose, and suppose that your highland lad should die! The bagpipes should play over him, and I'd sit me down and cry, And its oh in my heart I wish he may not die.