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A whiskin beard about her mou,
Sic a wife, &c.
III. She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ; She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter : She has a hump upon her breast, The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife, &c.
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin;
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-water;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
ANCE MAIR I HAIL THEE, &c.
1. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December !
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair; Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure,
Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O Farewel for ever !
Is anguish unmingl’d and agony pure.
Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown,
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair.
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee?
By the treasure of my soul, And that's the love I bear thee!
I swear and vow, that only thou
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
If it winna, canna be,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Lassie, let me quickly die,
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
AIR.-SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
I lo'ed her meikle and lang;
e'en gae hang.
To this be never blind,
A woman has 't by kind:
I mean an angel mind.
FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON, &c.
AIR. AFTON WATER.
I. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
II. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro'the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
III. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.