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Part ILPart IL
Part IL
Had I The Wyte? She Bade Me
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte? she bade me;
She watch`d me by the hie-gate side,
And up the loan she shaw`d me.
And when I wadna venture in,
A coward loon she ca`d me:
Had Kirk an` State been in the gate,
I`d lighted when she bade me.
Sae craftilie she took me ben,
And bade me mak nae clatter;
"For our ramgunshoch, glum gudeman
Is o`er ayont the water."
Whae`er shall say I wanted grace,
When I did kiss and dawte her,
Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say, I was the fautor.
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refus`d her;
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her!
He claw`d her wi` the ripplin-kame,
And blae and bluidy bruis`d her;
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but wad excus`d her!
I dighted aye her e`en sae blue,
An` bann`d the cruel randy,
And weel I wat, her willin` mou
Was sweet as sugar-candie.
At gloamin-shot, it was I wot,
I lighted on the Monday;
But I cam thro` the Tyseday`s dew,
To wanton Willie`s brandy.
Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat?
tune-"Push about the Jorum."
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the louns beware, Sir;
There`s wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, Sir:
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
And Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a Foreign Foe
On British ground to rally!
We`ll ne`er permit a Foreign Foe
On British ground to rally!
O let us not, like snarling curs,
In wrangling be divided,
Till, slap! come in an unco loun,
And wi` a rung decide it!
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang ourselves united;
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!
No! never but by British hands
Shall British wrangs be righted!
The Kettle o` the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in`t;
But deil a foreign tinkler loun
Shall ever ca`a nail in`t.
Our father`s blude the Kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By Heav`ns! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
By Heav`ns! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
The wretch that would a tyrant own,
And the wretch, his true-born brother,
Who would set the Mob aboon the Throne,
May they be damn`d together!
Who will not sing "God save the King,"
Shall hang as high`s the steeple;
But while we sing "God save the King,"
We`ll ne`er forget The People!
But while we sing "God save the King,"
We`ll ne`er forget The People!
Address To The Woodlark
tune-"Loch Erroch Side."
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart
Wha kills me wi` disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join`d,
Sic notes o` woe could wauken!
Thou tells o` never-ending care;
O`speechless grief, and dark despair:
For pity`s sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken.
Song.-On Chloris Being Ill
tune-"Aye wauken O."
Chorus-Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow
While my soul`s delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.
Can I cease to care?
Can I cease to languish,
While my darling Fair
Is on the couch of anguish?
Long, long, &c.
Ev`ry hope is fled,
Ev`ry fear is terror,
Slumber ev`n I dread,
Ev`ry dream is horror.
Long, long, &c.
Hear me, Powers Divine!
Oh, in pity, hear me!
Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
Long, long, &c.
How Cruel Are The Parents
Altered from an old English song.
tune-"John Anderson, my jo."
How cruel are the parents
Who riches only prize,
And to the wealthy booby
Poor Woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter
Has but a choice of strife;
To shun a tyrant Father`s hate-
Become a wretched Wife.
The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin,
Awhile her pinions tries;
Till, of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless Falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.
Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion
Air-"Deil tak the wars."
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar`d with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated).
What are the showy treasures,
What are the noisy pleasures?
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish`d jewels` blaze
May draw the wond`ring gaze;
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight,
But never, never can come near the heart.
But did you see my dearest Chloris,
In simplicity`s array;
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day,
But did you see, &c.
O then, the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,
In Love`s delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!
Ambition would disown
The world`s imperial crown,
Ev`n Avarice would deny,
His worshipp`d deity,
And feel thro` every vein Love`s raptures roll.
`Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E`e
tune-"Laddie, lie near me."
`Twas na her bonie blue e`e was my ruin,
Fair tho` she be, that was ne`er my undoin`;
`Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us,
`Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o` kindness:
`Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o` kindness.
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me,
But tho` fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever:
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Chloris, I`m thine wi` a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o` the dearest!
And thou`rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter:
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.
Their Groves O`Sweet Myrtle
tune-"Humours of Glen."
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.
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen;
For there, lightly tripping, among the wild flowers,
A-list`ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.
Tho` rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia`s blast on the wave;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they?-the haunt of the Tyrant and Slave.
The Slave`s spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi` disdain;
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save Love`s willing fetters-the chains of his Jean.
Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near
Air-"Let me in this ae night."
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 near, near, near me,
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, Love.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
Blasting each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I;
Save in these arms of thine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.
Cold, alter`d friendship`s cruel part,
To poison Fortune`s ruthless dart-
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.
But, dreary tho` the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet;
That only ray of solace sweet,
Can on thy Chloris shine, Love!
O wert thou, &c.
Fragment,-Why, Why Tell The Lover
tune-"Caledonian Hunt`s delight."
Why, why tell thy lover
Bliss he never must enjoy"?
Why, why undeceive him,
And give all his hopes the lie?
O why, while fancy, raptur`d slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris all the theme,
Why, why would`st thou, cruel-
Wake thy lover from his dream?
The Braw Wooer
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 me;
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 feet,
But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
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-morrow;
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.
This Is No My Ain Lassie
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`re.
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 her 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 eye.
This is no my ain, &c.
O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier
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`enin sun.
Yon rosebuds in the morning dew,
How pure, amang the leaves sae green;
But purer was the lover`s vow
They witness`d 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.
Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham
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,
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;
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 whase bosom, save Despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.
O That`s The Lassie O` My Heart
tune-"Morag."
O wat ye wha that lo`es me
And has my heart a-keeping?
O 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 her.
If thou shalt meet a lassie,
In grace and beauty charming,
That e`en thy chosen lassie,
Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne`er sic powers alarming;
O that`s the lassie, &c.
If thou hadst heard her talking,
And thy attention`s plighted,
That ilka body talking,
But her, by thee is slighted,
And thou art all delighted;
O that`s the lassie, &c.
If thou hast met this Fair One,
When frae her thou hast parted,
If every other Fair One
But her, thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted,
O that`s the lassie o` my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
O that`s the queen o` womankind,
And ne`er a ane to peer her.
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