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Tibbie, I ha'e seen the day.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye ha'e the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean

That looks sae proud and high.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
An' answer him fu' dry.

But if he ha'e the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice,
Your daddie's gear mak's you sae nice,
The de'il a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wad na gi'e her in her sark
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;

Ye need na look sae high.


LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. TUNE-"The auld man wad be married."

["These words are mine."-Burns in his Reliques.]

Louis, what reck I by thee,
Or Geordie on his ocean?
Dyvor, beggar loons to me-
I reign in Jeanie's bosom.

Let her crown my love her law,
And in her breast enthrone me :
Kings and nations-swith awa'!
Reif randies, I disown ye!

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TUNE "The deuks dang o'er my daddie."

NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care:
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gi'e me my Highland lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

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Oh, were yon hills an' valleys mine,
Yon palace an' yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know

I bear my Highland lassie, O.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
An' I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I

range, I know her heart will never change,

For her bosom burns with honour's glow, My faithful Highland lassie, O.

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth an' honour's band!
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O.

John Barleycorn.


To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,
Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear;
For there he rov'd that brake my heart,
Yet to that heart, ah! still how dear!




THERE were three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high; And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head;

And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

*This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the

same name.

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