Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust- Our sad decay in Church and State Grim vengeance lang has ta’en a nap, Gude help the day when royal heads Awa, Whigs, awa! Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, IO 20 PEG-A-RAMSEY. CAULD is the e'enin' blast When birks are bare at Yule. O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast R Ne'er sae murky blew the night COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er, We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, I swear and vow by moon and stars, If I had twenty thousand lives, We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, IO ΙΟ 20 SAE FAIR HER HAIR. BRAW, braw lads of Gala Water! Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow my love through the water. Down amang the broom, the broom, The lassie lost a silken snood, That cost her mony a blirt and blear ee. Braw, braw lads of Gala Water! O braw lads of Gala Water: I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow my love through the water. JO 20 COMING THROUGH THE RYE. COMING through the rye, poor body, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, O haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, I held the gate till you I met, Syne I began to wander: I tint my whistle and my sang, But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, ΤΟ THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. Ir was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, For the lands of Virginia O; Torn from that lovely shore, I must never see it more, And alas I am weary, weary O! All on that charming coast is no bitter snow or frost, Like the lands of Virginia 0; There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow, And alas I am weary, weary O! The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, In the lands of Virginia O; ΙΟ And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, And alas I am weary, weary O! HAD I THE WYTE. HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte, A coward loon she ca'd me: Had kirk and state been in the gate, Sae craftilie she took me ben, And bade me make nae clatter; ΙΟ |