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To deepen my sorrow; O dool to the morrow
If a' e'er I liket should wander awa.

O tell, &c.

Nae mair in yon bowers, whare bloom the wee flowers,

For Annie I'll pluck them, and busk her fu' braw, Nor there in the e'enin my love will I lean on: Ye'll rue it for ever when ance ye're awa.

O tell, &c.

O come to my bosom, my ain lovely blossom,
A true lover's hand ye shall hae it and a';
And whate'er Fortune showers, it a' shall be yours,
If frae your ain laddie you'll ne'er gang awa.

O tell, &c.

HEY FOR A WIFE WI' A HUNNER OR TWA.

Air-"The Laird o' Cockpen."

CHORUS.

ING hey for a wife wi' a hunner or twa,

A canty bit wife wi' a hunner or twa; Contentet and blithe, and hoo crouse waud I craw, Gin I had a wife wi' a hunner or twa?

I've aft had a blink o' Dame Fortune's bricht e'e,
But passed her aye by as she cared nae for me;
What's wealth but a syren that sings to beguile,
And honour a bauble that glitters awhile;
For them and for grandeur I little but care-
Eneugh be my lot, wi' a morsel to spare:
The sma'er the height, O the less is the fa',
Sae a' my ambition's a hunner or twa.

I care nae for beauty, gin she be but guid,
I rate nae her worth by connection or bluid;
As the fairest o' flowers hae aft the least smell,
And the finest o' grapes by the tastin' we tell:
But if she is lovin', and modest, and true,
Can wash a bit sark, and can airn and sew,
And guide the bit penny wi' care aboon a',
She's naething the warse wi' a hunner or twa.

Twad keep us fu' cosy, wi' that o' my ain,

Whan drifts the cauld snaw o'er the moor and the plain,

Be to our wee blossoms a bield frae the blast,
That's withered the brightest and best as it passed.
O mony the pleasures that wait its command,
And hoo finely and freely it turns the hand!
"Your wit and your wisdom are naething ava',
Without," cries the warld, "a hunner or twa."

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THE TRYSTE.

Air-" Kelvin Grove."

IS lovely now in May, bonnie lassie O,

And blithe the lammies play, bonnie lassie O;
The smilin' flow'rets spring,

Wee birdies mellow sing,

Till a' the plantins ring, bonnie lassie O.

When Phoebus steeks his e'e, bonnie lassie O,
Aneath the trystin' tree, bonnie lassie O,
Adoon in yonder glen

We'll meet, but nane shall ken,

For we'll steal awa our lane, bonnie lassie O.

What pleasures will we share, bonnie lassie O!
We'll feed on angels' fare, bonnie lassie O,
And quaff the streams that flow

Whare a' divinely glow,

And ilka care forego, bonnie lassie O.

O how the bosom warms, bonnie lassie O,
When I think upon thy charms, bonnie lassie O!
The lily bathed in dew,

Or the rose's blushin' hue,

Nae fairer is than you, bonnie lassie O.

And oh that breath o' thine, bonnie lassie O, Outvies the jessamine, bonnie lassie O;

When I hear thy voice sae sweet,

Whare heavenly echoes meet,

Wi' joy I'm like to greet, bonnie lassie O.

O gin ye were my ain, bonnie lassie O, 'Twad save me muckle pain, bonnie lassie O; But soon, my love, I'll stand

And tak ye by the hand,

At Hymen's saft command, bonnie lassie O.

Syne a' my guids and gear, bonnie lassie O, Ye'se hae, my only dear, bonnie lassie O; And then we'll blessed be

In a' that love can gi'e,

For I'll ever worship thee, bonnie lassie O.

But oh, the hours beguile, bonnie lassie O,
Sa fare ye well awhile, bonnie lassie 0:
Your mither on the green

Is seekin' for her Jean;

But tell na whare ye've been, bonnie lassie O.

THE AULD MAN'S SOLILOQUY.

Air-" The Flowers o' the Forest."

AWA, ye gay warld! a' lanely and eerie

I cower ower the ingle baith dowie and wae: Hoo heartless the hame whare a' ance was cheery— O welcome release, hoo I lang for the day!

I'm auld noo, and donnert, and naething's a pleasure:
I hirple about, but in sorrow and pain;
I sich and I sab, and the weary hours measure-
Unnoticed I pine, and unpitied complain.

Frae a' that I liket noo severed for ever;
O hard is the fate that compels me to mourn!
The flowers may revive, but never, never,

To me shall the spring of the bosom return.

As the ivy yestreen frae yon auld tree was riven,
I thocht o' the hour, wi' the tear in my e'e,
When torn frae my heart was my Nancy by Heaven,
And helpless she left our bit lammies and me:

But sin' her last blessing to us she imparted,

As fondly her cauld, dewy hand then I pressed, What changes, alas! and hoo often has smarted, And keenly, this weary and careworn breast!

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