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alake arms auld Bacchus baith beauty besore blest blyth bonny bonny lass bosum braes braw breast Busk canna charms cheek Chios cou'd cry'd Cupid dear delight didle drink e'er ev'ry eyes faid fair foft fome foon forrow foul frae gi'e grace green grove hame happy heart heaven highland laddie ilka Invermay Jeany Jenny kifs kind kiss laddie lady lass lassie leave lise looks lov'd love thee love's lover maid maun merry mind morning nae mair ne'er never night nymph o'er pain Peggy pleasure poor quoth Rob Morris rofe S O N G scorn sear shou'd sighs sing smiles SONG Sung swain sweet Syne tell There's thine thofe thou thoufand tocher Tune vows wawking Whofe Willy wine winna winsume wise wou'd Yarrow young youth
Page 236 - Of all the days that's in the week I dearly love but one day — And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday...
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!
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 344 - O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?" He turnd his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing: "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan.
Page 244 - Wide o'er the foaming billows She cast a wistful look ; Her head was crown'd with willows That trembled o'er the brook. Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days ; Why didst...
Page 138 - How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break?
Page 199 - Say often what they never mean, Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, But tent the language of their een: If these agree, and she persist To answer all your love with hate. Seek elsewhere to be better blest, And let her sigh when 'tis too late. ROGER Kind Patie, now fair fa' your honest heart, — Ye 're ay sae cadgy, and have sic an art To hearten ane!
Page 357 - He was a braw gallant, And he rid at the ring; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Oh he might have been a King! He was a braw gallant, And he playd at the ba; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Was the flower amang them a'.