Chorus.-Jamie, come try me, Jamie, come try me, If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me. IF thou should ask my love, Could I deny thee? If thou would win my love,
THE ROBIN to the Wren’s nest Cam keekin’ in, cam keekin’ in; O weel’s me on your auld pow, Wad ye be in, wad ye be in? Thou’s ne’er get leave to lie without,
THE BAIRNS gat out wi’ an unco shout, The deuks dang o’er my daddie, O! The fien-ma-care, quo’ the feirrie auld wife, He was but a paidlin’ body, O! He paidles out, and he
FORLORN, my Love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe, At which I most repine, Love. Chorus.-O wert thou, Love, but near me! But
THOU, Liberty, thou art my theme; Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddess That a fantastic cap and rod has; Such stale conceits are poor and silly; I
HOW can my poor heart be glad, When absent from my sailor lad; How can I the thought forego- He’s on the seas to meet the foe? Let me wander, let me rove, Still
SLEEP’ST thou, or wak’st thou, fairest creature? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi’ the tears o’ joy. Now, to the streaming fountain, Or up the heathy mountain,
UP wi’ the carls o’ Dysart, And the lads o’ Buckhaven, And the kimmers o’ Largo, And the lasses o’ Leven. Chorus.-Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’, For we hae muckle ado. Hey, ca’ thro’,
THEIR groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom.
NOW spring has clad the grove in green, 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,
SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella’s arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning rose may blow; But cold successive noontide
O MERRY hae I been teethin’ a heckle, An’ merry hae I been shapin’ a spoon; O merry hae I been cloutin’ a kettle, An’ kissin’ my Katie when a’ was done. O a’
WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie bitch To thresh my back at sic a pitch? Losh, man! hae mercy wi’ your natch, Your bodkin’s bauld; I didna suffer half sae much Frae Daddie Auld.
A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie: Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie, I’ve seen the day Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie, Out-owre the
Chorus-We’ll hide the Cooper behint the door, Behint the door, behint the door, We’ll hide the Cooper behint the door, And cover him under a mawn, O. THE COOPER o’ Cuddy came here awa,