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A good


O why, while fancy raptur'd slumbers,
"Chloris, Chloris," all the theme,
Why, why would'st thou, cruel,
Wake thy lover from his dream.


Tune-"The Lothian Lassie."

LAST May, a braw wooer cam doun 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, believe


The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en,
And vow'd for my love he was diein,
I said, he might die when he liked for Jean-
The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein;
The Lord forgie me for liein!

A weel-stocked 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 hae waur offers, waur
offers ;

But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think?-in a fortnight or less
(The deil tak his taste to gae near her!)
He up the Gate-slack to my black cousin, Bess—
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her,
could bear her;

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.


But a' the niest week, as I petted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock ;
But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I
gae him a blink,
Lest neibours might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,

And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl't

But heavens! how he fell a swearing, a swearing,

But heavens! how he fell a swearin.

He begged for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to


I think I maun wed him to-morrow.


Tune "This is no my house."

Chorus-This is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be;

Weel ken I my ain lassie,

Kind love is in her e'e.

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"Kind love 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.
This is no my ain, &c.

She's bonie, 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.
This is no my ain, &c.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lover's een,
When kind love is in the e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.

It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But well the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.


O BONIE was yon rosy brier,

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man;

And bonie she, and ah, how dear!
It shaded frae the e'ening sun.

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew,

How pure, amang the leaves sae green; purer was the lover's vow


They witnessed in their shade yestreen.

All in its rude and prickly bower,

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair; But love is far a sweeter flower,

Amid life's thorny path o' care.

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;
And I the warld nor wish nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.


Now spring has clad the grove in
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers.
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps o' woe!

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
That glides, a silver dart,
And, safe beneath the shady thorn,
Defies the angler's art—
My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;
But Love, wi' unrelenting beam,
Has scorch'd my fountains dry.

That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,

Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;


Blighted by Love

Deep despair

And now, beneath the withering blast,
My youth and joy consume.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe his dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye;

As little reck'd I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare

O' witching Love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whose doom is "hope nae mair"
What tongue his woes can tell;
Within whose bosom, save Despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.



O WAT ye wha that lo'es me
And has my heart a-keeping?
sweet is she that lo'es me,
As dews o' summer weeping,
In tears the rosebuds steeping!

Chorus-O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer ;

O she's the queen o' womankind,

And ne'er a ane to peer


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