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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.

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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;
But I'll do my beft a gude wife to be,
For auld Robin Grey is kind unto me.

SONG 170.

THE HIGHLAND LADDIE.

THE lawland lads think they are fine;
But O, they're vain and idly gawdy!
How much unlike that gracefu' mein,
And manly looks of my highland laddie!
O my bonny, bonny highland laddie,
My handsome charming highland laddie ;
May heav'n ftill guard, and love reward
Our lawland lafs, and her highland laddie.

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,
In a' his airs, with art made ready,
Compar'd to him he's but a clown;
He's finer far in's tartan plaidy.

O my bonny, &c.

O'er benty hill with him I'll run,
And leave my lawland kin and dady,
Frae winter's cauld, and fùummer's fun,
He'll screen me with his highland plaidy.

O my bonny, &c.

A painted room, and filken bed,
May please a lawland laird and lady;
But I can kifs and be as glad,
Behind a bush in's highland plaidy.

O my bonny, &c.

Few compliments between us pafs,
I ca' him my dear highland laddie,
And he ca's me his lawland lafs,
Syne rows me in beneath his plaidie.

Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend,

O my bonny, &c

Than that his love prove true and steady,
Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end,

While Heav'n preferves my highland laddie.
O my benny, &c.

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.
My heart grew light, I ran, I flang
My arms about her lily neck,

And kiss'd and clapt her there fou lang,
My words they were na mony feck.

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.
At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash,
And herrings at the Broomy Law;
Chear up your heart, my bonny lafs,
There's gear to win we never faw.

All day when we have wrought enough,
When winter, frofts, and fnaw begin,
Soon as the fun gaes weft the loch,

At night when ye fit down to spin;
I'll fcrew my pipes, and play a spring,
And thus the weary night we'll end;
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
Our pleasant fummer back again.

Syne when the trees are in their bloom,
And gowans glent o'er ilka field,
I'll meet my lafs amang the broom,
And lead you to my fummer fhield.
Then far frac a' their fcornfu' din,

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,
Where wives loud clappers never found,
But an eternal laugh goes round.

There let me drown in wine my pain,
And never think of home again :
What comfort can a husband have,

To rule the house where he's a flave?

མམ་རརཡན

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