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Yestreen I met you on the moor;

Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure; Ye geck at me because I'm poor, But fient a hair care I.

O Tibbie, &c.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

O Tibbie, &c.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,

Wha follows any saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, &c.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
O Tibbie, &c.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

O Tibbie, &c.

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,

Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice,

The deil a one wad spier your price,

Were ye as poor as I.

O Tibbie, &c

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wad nae gie her in her sark,
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark:
Ye needna look sae high.

O Tibbie, &c.

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DUNCAN GRAY.

DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

On blithe yule night when we were fu;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh:
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd;
Ha, ha, &c.

Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig:
Ha, ha, &c.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,

Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' louping o'er a linn:

Ha, ha, &c.

Time and chance are but a tide •
Ha, ha, &c.

Slighted love is sair to bide:

Ha, ha, &c.

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die?

She may go-to France for me!
Ha, ha, &c.

How it comes let doctors tell,
Ha, ha, &c.

Meg grew sick as he grew well,
IIa, ha, &c.

Something in her bosom wrings;
For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things
Ha, ha, &c.

Duncan was a lad o' grace,
Ha, ha, &c.

Maggie's was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, &c.

Duncan could na be her death,

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
Now they're crouse and cantie baith;
Ha, ha, &c.

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LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me!

I said there was naething I hated like men;

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me.

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He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean;
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgie me for lying.

A well-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers;
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!

He up the lang loan, to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bea

her,

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock ;
And wha but my fine, fickle lover was there!
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owie my left shouther I gaed him a blink,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin, fu' couthie and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin',

And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet?

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But, heavens! how he fell a-swearin', a-swearin,
But, heavens! how he fell a-swearin'.

He begg'd, for Gude-sake! I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:

Bo, e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

WILLIE'S WIFE.

WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie:
He had a wife was dour and din,
O Tinkler Madgie was her mother.

CHORUS.

Sic a wife as Willie had!

I wad na gie a button for her.

She has an e'e-she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very color;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller;
A whiskin' beard about her mou,

Her nose and chin they threaten ither.
Sic a wife, &c.

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