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auld beauty Becauſe beſt bleſt bliſs bluſhes blyth bonny boſom breaſt Busk cauſe ceaſe charms conſtant cou’d dear deſire deſpair drink e'er eaſe eaſy eyes fair falſe figh filly fing firſt frae grace hame haſte heart highland laddie houſe jenny juſt kiſs laddie laſs laſt loſe loſt lov’d lover maid mair maun moſt muſt ne'er never night nymph o'er paſſion paſt pleaſe pleaſure praiſe reaſon reſt riſe Rob Morris roſe S O N G ſad ſae ſaid ſay ſcorn ſea ſee ſeek ſeem ſeen ſell ſenſe ſet ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhe's ſhepherd ſhine ſhould ſleep ſmiles ſoft ſome ſon ſong ſoon ſorrow ſoul ſound ſpeak ſport ſpring ſtand ſtate ſtill ſtream ſuch ſun ſure ſwain ſweet ſweetly thee theſe thoſe thou thouſand treaſure Tune Twas uſe Whilſt Whoſe wine wiſe wiſh wou'd ye'r young
Page 225 - Word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may...
Page 420 - The modes of the court so common are grown, That a true friend can hardly be met; Friendship for interest is but a loan, Which they let out for what they can get.
Page 136 - Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath: And give me back my maiden vow, And give me back my troth.
Page 341 - IT was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan. 2. He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan.
Page 196 - Just entered in her teens, Fair as the day, and sweet as May, Fair as the day, and always gay. My Peggy is a young thing, And I'm not very auld, Yet well I like to meet her at The wauking of the fauld. My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, Whene'er we meet alane, I wish nae mair to lay my care, — I wish nae mair of a' that's rare. My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, To a' the lave I'm cauld; But she gars a' my spirits glow, At wauking of the fauld.
Page 101 - Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone ; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.
Page 240 - And while a false nymph was his theme, A willow supported his head. The wind, that blew over the plain, To his sighs with a sigh did reply : And the brook, in return to his pain, Ran mournfully murmuring by.
Page 241 - I have skill to complain, Though the Muses my temples have crowned ; What though, when they hear my soft strain, The Virgins sit weeping around; Ah ! COLIN ! thy hopes are in vain ! Thy pipe and thy laurel resign! Thy False One inclines to a Swain, Whose music is sweeter than thine!