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alake auld baith beauty blest blyth bonny braes braw breast bright Broom of Cowdenknows busk canna charms cou'd cry'd Cupid dear delight didle drink e'er ev'ry eyes faid fair faithsul fate fhall fleep frae gowans are gay grace green grove gypsie laddie hame happy heart heaven highland laddie honour Invermay Jeany Jenny kind king kiss laddie lady lass lassie leave lise look lov'd lover maid maun merry mind nae mair ne'er never night nymph o'er pain passion Peggy pleasure poor pray Rob Morris scorn sear shou'd sields sighs sine sing sire smiles soft soger SONG sorrow soul Strephon Sung swain sweet Syne tell thee There's thine thou thoufand tocher Tune Twas vows wawking Whilst wine winna wise wou'd Yarrow ye'r young youth
Page 227 - Word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may...
Page 422 - 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 138 - 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 343 - 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 198 - 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 103 - 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 242 - 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 243 - 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!