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III.
My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young,

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye,
May ill befa’ the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

0:

IV.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonnie, 0;
The op’ning gowan, wet wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

V.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be,

I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O.

VI.
My riches a' 's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, 0;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O.

VII.
Our auld guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, 0; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

VIII.
Come weel, come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what heav'n will sen' me, 0; Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

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SONG IV.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A

FRAGMENT.

Green grow

CHORUS.

the rashes, o,
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,

Are spent amang the lasses, O.

I.

THERE 's nought but care on ev'ry han',

In ev'ry hour that passes, O: What signifies the life o' man, An''t were na for the lasses, O ?

Green grow, &c.

II,
The warly race may riches chase,

An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

Green
grow,

8C.

III.
But gie me a canny hour at e'en,

My arms about my dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O.

Green grow, 8c.

IV.
For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,

Ye 're nought but senseless asses, 0 :
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Green gror, &c.

V.
Auld nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

Green grow, &c.

SONG V.

AGAIN REJOICING NATURE SEES.

AIR.-JOHNNY'S GREY BREEKS.

I.

Again rejoicing nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze

All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

CHORUS *.
And maun I still on Menie ť doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ! For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,

An' it winna let a body be !

* This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentle. man in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the Author's.

+ Menie is the common abbreviation of Marian.

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