Poem by Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne

Archie's an Archer

Air — "Airchie M'Vie."

Archie's an archer, and a gude shot is he,
But tho' he's hit mony, he never hit me;
How handsome he looks, how stately his mien,
Wi' his bannet, and feather, and braw coat o' green!
Wi' his white gauntlet glove, an' his stiff stannin' ruff,
His clear shining buckles, his neat turned cuff;
Wi' his bow, and his quiver, a' filled wi' his darts, —
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
      Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M'Vie.

Oh high is his head, as that you may see,
But short is the purse o' Sir Archie M'Vie;
But though he has neither braw houses nor land,
His prospects he offers alang wi' his hand;—
An uncle o' eighty, wi' plenty to gi'e,
And an auntie wha doats on Sir Archie M'Vie;
For an heiress he's busy preparing his darts,
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
      Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M'Vie.

He's weel descended an unco genteel,
That he's seekin' an heiress he does nae conceal;
He's a baronet now, and a lordlin' he'll be,
An' a trustworthy knicht is Sir Archie M'Vie.
He's lang had a sheep's-eye at mither an' me,
For something I hae, and mair she can gi'e;
He's offered his hand and his prospects to me,
But wi' a' his darts he never hit me!
      Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M'Vie.

1. Songs of My Native Land
2. Caller Herrin'
3. There Grows a Bonnie Brier Bush
4. Fell He on the Field of Fame
5. The Convict's Farewell

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