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Your proffer o' luve 's an arle-penny,
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin',

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree;
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
An' ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.


TUNE-"There are few gude fellows when Willie's awa."

By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray;
An' as he was singing, the tears down came-
There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars;
Delusions, oppressions, an' murderous wars;
We darena weel say 't, though we ken wha's to

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
An' now I greet round their green beds in the yerd.
It brak' the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld dame-
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

Green grow the Rashes.

Now life is a burthen that bows me down,

Since I tint my bairns, an' he tint his crown;
But till my last moments my words are the same-
There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!


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TUNE-"Green grow the rashes."

THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, 0:
What signifies the life o' man,
An 'twere na for the lasses, O.


Green grow the rashes, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

The warl'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;

An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gi'e me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.


TUNE-"The moudiewort."


AND oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam,

And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam, I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.

They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
But three short years will soon wheel roun'-
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam.

A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam;
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.

Bess and her Spinning-wheel.

They'll ha'e me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' ha'e plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie-there's my
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam.


TUNE-"The sweet lass that lo'es me."

OH leeze me on my spinning-wheel,
Oh leeze me on my rock an' reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
An' haps me fiel an' warm at e'en!
I'll set me down an' sing an' spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, an' milk an' meal-
Oh leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
An' meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk an' hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest

An' little fishes' caller rest:

The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,

An' echo cons the dolefu' tale;


The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirring o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, an' less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,

Oh wha wad leave this humble state
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,

Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?


TUNE-"Dainty Davie," or "Oh gin ye were dead, gudeman."

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,

But whatna day o' whatna style,
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

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