Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his ee, Said, Jenny for their fakes, O marry me. My heart it faid ray, I look'd for Jemmy back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck, The fhip it was a wreck, why didna Jemmy die? And why do I live to fay waes me? Auld Robin argued fair, tho' my mither didna speak, She look'd in my face till my heart was like to break, So they gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the fea, And auld Robin Grey is gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When fitting fae mournfully at the door, I faw my Jemmy's wreath, for I cudna think it he, 'Till he faid, I'm come back for to marry thee. O fair did we greet, and muckle did we fay ; We took but ae kifs, and we tore ourfelves away : I wish I were dead but I'm no like to die; And why do I live to say waes me? I gang like a ghaift, and carena to spia; I darena think on Jemmy, for that wou'd be a fin; SONG 170. THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. THE lawland lads think they are fine; If I were free at will to chufe, To be the wealthieft lawland lady, I'd take young Donald without trews, With bonnet blue, and belted plaidy. O my bonny, &c. The braweft beau in burrow's-town, O my bonny, &c. O'er benty hill with him I'll run, O my bonny, &c. A painted room, and filken bed, O my bonny, &c. Few compliments between us pafs, Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend, O my bonny, &c Than that his love prove true and steady, While Heav'n preferves my highland laddie. SONG 171. ETRICK BANKS. ON Etrick banks, in a fummer's night, At glooming when the fheep drave hame, I met my laffie braw and tight, Come wading barefoot a' her lane. And kiss'd and clapt her there fou lang, I faid, My laffie, will ye go To the Highland hills, the Erfe to learn? I'll baith gie thee a cow and ew, When ye come to the brigg of Earn. All day when we have wrought enough, At night when ye fit down to spin; Syne when the trees are in their bloom, That mak' the kindly hearts their sport, We'll laugh, and kifs, and dance, and fing, And gar the langeft day feem fhort. SONG 172. JOLLY mortals, fill your glaffes; Noble deeds are done by wine; Scorn the nymph and all her graces : Who'd for love or beauty pine? Look upon this bowl that's flowing, And a thousand charms you'll find, More than in Chloe when juft going, In the moment to be kind. Alexander hated thinking: Drank about at council-board; Made friends, and gain'd the world by drinking, More than by his conquering fword. SONG 173. OH! lead me to fome peaceful room, Он! Where none but honeft fellows come, There let me drown in wine my pain, To rule the house where he's a flave? མམ་རརཡན |