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Tohn Anderson.


Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win’

Blew hansel in on Robin.

The gossip keekit in his loof,
Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof;

I think we'll ca' him Robin.

He'll ha’e misfortunes great an’ sma',
But aye a heart aboon them a';
He 'll be a credit till us a'-

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

But sure as three times three mak' nine,
I see by ilka score and line,
This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin.


TUNE—"John Anderson, my jo."
JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent;

But now your brow is beld, John,

Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,
An' mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go,
An' sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.


TUNE—“Balinamona ora.”
Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:
Oh, gi’e me the lass that has acres o' charms,
Oh, gi'e me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.


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.

Oh this is no my ain Lassie !


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.

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 ha'e them, the mair they're carest.


TUNE-"This is no my ain house."


On this is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be;
Oh weel ken I my ain lassie,

Kind love is in her e'e.

I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place;
It wants, to me, the witching grace,

The kind love that 's in her e'e.

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my very saul,

The kind love that's in her e'e.

A thief sae paukie is my Jean,
To steal a blink by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lovers' een,

When kind love is in the e'e.

It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But weel the watching lover marks

The kind love that's in her e'e.


TUNE—“Coming through the rye.”

[This is altered from an old favourite song of the same name.] COMING through the rye, poor body,

Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie
Coming through the rye.
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,

Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie

Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,

Need a body cry?

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LAST May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen,

And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
I said there was naething I hated like men-
The deuce gae wi’m to believe me,


me, The deuce gae wi’m to believe me.

He spak’ o'the darts o' my bonnie black een,

And vow'd for my love he was dying;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean-

The Lord forgi’e me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgi'e me for lying!

A weel-stockit mailen, himsel for the laird,

And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers; I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,

But thought I might ha’e waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might ha’e waur offers.

But what wad ye think ?—in a fortnight or less,

The de'il tak’ his taste to gae near her!

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