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She leugh an' bad me let her hame,
Her mither sair wad flyte an' scauld ; But ere I quat my bonny Bess
Anither tale I trow she tauld.
On Tysday night, fou weel I wat,
Wi' hinny words I row'd my tongue, Raught down my plaid, an stievely stak
Untill my neive a hazel rung. Now whan I con’d my artless tale
Gaun linkin' owre the lilie lea, Fou weel I trow'd that ilka bush
Some jeering question speir'd at me.
The bleeter cry'd frae yont the loch,
"O hoolie, hoolie-whare ye gaun ?" The craik reply'd frae 'mang the corn,
Turn out your taes, my bonny man.” An' soon I faund wi' shiv’rin' shanks,
My heart play dunt through basfou fear, Whan glow'rin' owre the kail-yard dyke
To see gin a' the coast was clear ;
An' there, like ony nightly thief,
Wi' eerie swither lour'd awhile, Till rallying ilka traitor nerve,
I lightly laup outowr the stile ; Syne gae the glass twa cannie pats,
An' Bessie bade na lang frae me;
The rousty lock was ullied weel,
An' ilka hinge o' cheepin' free.
Wha saw the saft, the silken hour,
Say, was your bliss mair chastely pure ?
An' blythly play'd the lee-lang day,
Ayont the mow amang the hay,
THE DRINKIN', O.
A SANG FOR THE LADIBS.
O WAE to the wearifu' drinkin', O!
Our charms are gi'en in vain !
Social conversation's gane ! For the rattlin' o' guns an' the drinkin', O. O why will you ply at the drinkin', O? Which to weakness will soon lead you linkin', 0;
These eyes that shine sae bright
Soon will be a weary sight,
For ever may we grieve for the drinkin', 0!
Our presence sair abused,
An' our company refused,
O drive us not away wi' your drinkin', O!
An' ye're no to think it lang,
Sweet delicacy, turn us to blinkin', 0!
Bothers ilka manly soul,
Gentle Peace, come an’ wean them frae drink.
in', 0! Bring the little footy boy wi' you winkin', 0!
Gar him thraw at ilka man,
An' wound as deep he can,
Tune-Braes of Balquhidder.
“LITTLE, queer bit auld body,
Whar ye gaun sae late at e'en ? Sic a massy auld body
I saw never wi’ my een.” “I'm gaun to court the bonniest lass
That ever stepp'd in leather shoe.”' “But little shabby auld body,
Where's the lass will look at you ?
“ Ere I war kiss'd wi' ane like you,
Or sic a man cam to my bed, I'd rather kiss the hawkit cow,
An' in my bosom tak a taed. Wha ever weds wi' sic a stock
Will be a gibe to a’ the lave : Little, stupit auld body.
Rather think upon your grave.”
“But I'm sae deep in love wi' ane,
I'll wed or die, it maks na whether : O? she's the prettiest, sweetest queen,
That ever brush'd the dew frae heather ; The fairest Venus ever drawn
Is naething but a bogle till her ;
She's fresher than the morning dawn,
She rais'd her hands; her een they reel'd;
Then wi' a skirt outowr she fell;
Hey! mercy! body, that's mysel'!"
An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her: An' while she leugh, an' whiles she sigh'd,
An' lean'd her head upon his shoulder.
“O pity me, my bonny Grace !
My words are true, ye needna doubt 'em, Nae man can see your bonny face
An' keep his senses a' about him.” “ Troth, honest man, I kend lang syne
Nae ither lass could equal wi' me; But yet the brag sae justly mine
Was tint, till you hae chanc'd to see me,
Though ye want yudith, gear, an’ mense,
Ye hae a dash o' amorous fire ;
An ye sal hae your heart's desire."
If that vain nature still is given,
They'll flatier ye into hell frae heaven.