"An' ye sal gang sae braw, lassie, Wow but ye'll be vaunty: An' ye sal wear, when you are weu, "If ye will marry me, laddie, At the kirk o'. Birniebouzle; My chiefest aim shall be, laddie, Ever to content ye: I'll bait the line an' bear the pail, An' row the boat an' spread the sail, "Then come awa wi' me, lassie, For ye sal hae baith tups an' ewes, An' be the lady o' my house, An, that may weel content ye." LIFE IS A WEARY COBBLE O' CARE. TUNE-Bob o' Dumblane. LIFE is a weary, weary, weary. Wha ca' it a meadow, For life is a puddle o' perfect despair. We love an' we marry, we fight an' we vary, Get children to plague an' confound us for aye! Our sons they grow sinners, Man is a steerer, steerer, steerer, Man is a steerer, life is a pool; We wrestle an' fustle, For riches we bustle, Then drap in the grave, an' leave a' to a fool. Youth again could I see, Women should wilie be, Ere I were wheedled to sorrow an pain; Never to marry them; Hang me if buckled in wedlock again. 66 JACK AND HIS MOTHER, TUNE-Jackson's Cog in the Morning. Now, mother, since a' our young lasses ye saw, Her form is so fair, an' her features so fine; "Awa, ye poor booby! your skill is but sma' ! If ye marry Peggy ye'll ruin us a' : She lives like a lady, an' dresses as braw: "O mother! sic beauty I canna forego! I've sworn I will have her, come weal or come woe; An' that wad be perjury, black as a crow, To leave her an' think of another." "An' if ye do wed her, your prospects are fine; In meal-pocks an' rags ye will instantly shine: Gae break your mad vow, an' the sin shall be mine; O pity yoursel' an' your mother?" "I'm sure my young Peggy is handsome an' gay: I spoke to her father this very same day, An' tauld him I was for his daughter away." Dear Jocky! what said he this morning?" "He said he wad gie me a horse an' a cow, A hunder gude ewes, an' a pack o' his woo, To stock a bit farm at the back o' the brow, An' gie Maggy wark i' the morning." "Troth Peggy is bonny, and handsome I trow; So Jocky an' Peggy in wedlock were bound; round, An' a' wish'd them joy, i' the morning. ATHOL CUMMERS. DUNCAN lad, blaw the bummers! Canna rouse like Athol Cummers. Duncan lad, &c. When the fickle lasses vex me ; Then I cry for Athol Cummers. Duncan lad, &c. 'Tis a cure for a' disasters; Kebbit ewes, an crabbit masters; A' my joy is Athol Cummers. Duncan lad, &c. |