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But it's not the roar o' sea or shore
I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.
TUNE "I do confess thou art sae fair."
["This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Aytoun, private secretary to Mary and Anne, Queens of Scotland."-Burns.]
I DO Confess thou art sae fair,
I wad been owre the lugs in love,
Had I na found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak thy heart could move.
I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind
That kisses ilka thing it meets.
See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew,
Amang its native briers sae coy; How sune it tines its scent and hue
When pu'd and worn a common toy! Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide,
Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile; Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside,
Like ony common weed and vile.
The Dumfries Volunteers.
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.
TUNE-" Push about the jorum."
DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Oh, let us not, like snarling tykes,
Among oursel's united;
The kettle o' the kirk an' state,
Shall ever ca' a nail in 't.
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
The wretch that wad a tyrant own,
Who will not sing, "God save the King,"
But while we sing, "God save the King,"
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?
TUNE-"The sutor's dochter."
WILT thou be my dearie?
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
By the treasure of my soul,
I swear an' vow that only thou
The Winter of Life.
Lassie, say thou lo’es me;
Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
Thou for thine may choose me,
THE WINTER OF LIFE.
BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers
But now our joys are fled,
On winter blasts awa'!
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,
Oh, age has weary days,
An' nights o' sleepless pain!
YESTREEN I HAD A PINT O' WINE.
TUNE-"Banks of Banna."
["I think this is the best love song I ever composed.”—Burns.]
YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na;
Ye monarchs, tak' the east an' west,
Gi'e me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
An empress or sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms