But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, And how my auld shoon fitted her shachl't feet- He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. TUNE-" BALINAMONA ORA." WA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, arms, O, gie me the lass that has acres o'charms, O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. CHORUS. Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher; the nice yellow guineas for me. Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows; But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. Then hey, &c. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them—the mair they're carest. Then hey, &c. E 50 ALTHOUGH THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. TUNE "HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA, HINEY." CHORUS. ERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Thou art as sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear-Jessy! ALTHOUGH thou maun never be mine, Although even hope is denied; Than aught in the world beside-Jessy! I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e'e; THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. B CHORUS. CONNIE lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, While o'er their heads the hazels hing, Or lightly flit on wanton wing The braes ascend like lofty wa's, The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, Bonnie lassie, &c. 52 Let fortune's gifts at random flee, THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. TUNE-" MORAG." OUD blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover; Since my young Highland Rover The trees now naked groaning, |