Come to your bed, says Johny Faa, Oh! come to your bed, my deary; For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword, "I'll go to bed to my Johny Faa, And I'll go to bed to my deary; For I vow and swear by what past yestreén, That lord shall nae mair come near me." my "I'll mak a hap to my Johny Faa, And I'll mak a hap to my deary; And he's get a' the coat gaes round, And my lord shall nae mair come near me." And when our lord came home at e'en, The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd, "Gae saddle to me the black, black steed, And we were fifteen well-made men, And we were a' put down for ane, TO DAUNTON ME. THE two following old stanzas to this tune have some merit: To daunton me, to daunton me, O ken ye what it is that'll daunton me? There's cess and press and Presbytrie, I think it will do meikle for to daunton me. But to wanton me, to wanton me, O ken ye what it is that wad wanton me?— And banishment amang the Whigs, And right restored where right sud be, I think it would do meikle for to wanton me.* * A third verse runs thus: But to wanton me, to wanton me, O this is that maist wad wanton me. THE BONIE LASS MADE THE BED TO ME. "THE Bonie Lass made the Bed to me," was composed on an amour of Charles II. when sculking in the North, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. He formed une petite affaire with a daughter of the House of Port-letham, who was the lass that made the bed to him:-two verses of it are, I kiss'd her lips sae rosy red, While the tear stood blinkin in her ee; I said my lassie dinna cry, For ye ay shall mak the bed to me. She took her mither's winding sheet, And o't she made a sark to me; Blythe and merry may she be, The lass that made the bed to me. When Januar wind was blawing cauld, By my gude luck a maid I met, I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, She made the bed baith large and wide, She snatch'd the candle in her hand, my A cod* she laid below my head, I pat my arms about her neck. sound." Haud aff your hands, young man, she says, And dinna sae uncivil be: Gif ye hae ony luve for me, O wrang nae my virginitie! * A pillow. Her hair was like the links o' gowd, Her bosom was the driven snaw, I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, Upon the morrow when we raise, I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, For ye ay She took her mither's holland sheets, The lass that made the bed to me. |