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Tho' warl's care we share o't,
And may see meikle mair o't;
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,

And ne'er a word repine.


TUNE—“Katharine Ogie." YE banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,

An' there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel

O my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my deary; For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Auld Rob Morris.


Wi' mony a vow an’ lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu’ tender;
An', pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursel's asunder;
But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green 's the sod, and cauld's the clay

That wraps my Highland Mary.

Oh pale, pale, now, those rosy lips,

I aft ha'e kiss'd sae fondly!
An' clos'd for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly;
An' mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that lov'd me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary.


TUNE-" Jock, the laird's brother.” [“ The first two lines are taken from an old ballad--the rest is wholly original.”—Currie.] THERE's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o'gude fellows an’ wale о'auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen an' kine, An' ae bonnie lassie, his darling an' mine.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
An' dear to my heart as the light to my e’e.

But, oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin 's a laird,
An' my daddie has naught but a cot-house an' yard:
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
An' I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

Oh had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might ha’e hop'd she wad smild upon me!
Oh, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !


I HA’E a wife o' my ain-

I'll partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak’ cuckold frae nane,

I'll gie cuckold to naebody.

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TUNE—“Dainty Davie.”
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ;
An' now come in my happy hours,

To wander wi' my Davie.


Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; There I'll spend the day wi' you,

My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,

A wandering wi' my Davie.

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro’ the dews I will repair,

To meet my faithfu’ Davie.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

An' that's my ain dear Davie.


TUNE—“Duncan Gray.” DUNCAN GRAY cam' here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe Yule night when we were fu',

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggy coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent an' unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

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