The rousty lock was ullied weel, O say, ye haly Minstrel band, Wha saw the saft, the silken hour, Say, was your bliss mair chastely pure ? THE DRINKIN', O. A SANG FOR THE LADIES. TUNE-Dunbarton Drums. O WAE to the wearifu' drinkin', O! For the rattlin' o' guns an' the drinkin', O. O why will you ply at the drinkin', O? Soon will be a weary sight, When ye're a' sittin' noddin' an' winkin', O! For ever may we grieve for the drinkin', O! An' our company refused, An' its a' for the wearifu' drinkin', O! O drive us not away wi' your drinkin', O! We like your presence mair than ye're thinkin', O! We'll gie ye anither sang, An' ye're no to think it lang, For the sake o' your wearifu' drinkin', O! Sweet delicacy, turn us to blinkin', 0! For by day the guns and swords still are clinkin', O! An' at night the flowin' bowl Then there's naething but beblin' an' drinkin', O! Gentle Peace, come an' wean them frae drinkin', O! Bring the little footy boy wi' you winkin', O! An' wound as deep he can, Or we're ruin'd by the wearifu' drinkin, O! GRACIE MILLER. 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, 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; An' aye she leugh, an' aye she squeel'd, An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her: An' whiles 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 good taste, an' sterling sense, BIRNIEBOUZLE. TUNE-Braes of Tullymet. "WILL ye gang wi' me, lassie, I'll hunt the otter an' the brock; An' pu' the limpat off the rock, To fatten an' to fend ye. "If ye'll gae wi' me, lassie, To the braes o' Birniebouzle, Till the day we dee, lassie, The peats I'll carry in a skull; "Sae cheery will ye be, lassie, I' the braes o' Birniebouzle; Donald Gun and me, lassie, Ever will attend ye. Though we hae nouther milk nor meal, Nor lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal We'll fank the porpy an' the seal, An' that's the way to fend ye. |