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 O Tibbie, &c. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, Wha follows any saucy quean Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, But if he hae the name o' gear, 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, O Tibbie, &c. DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo, On blithe yule night when we were fu; Maggie coost her head fu' high, Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig: Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Ha, ha, &c. Time and chance are but a tide • Slighted love is sair to bide: Ha, ha, &c. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, She may go-to France for me! How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick as he grew well, Something in her bosom wrings; And O, her een, they spak sic things Duncan was a lad o' grace, Maggie's was a piteous case, Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, I said there was naething I hated like men; The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een, I said he might die when he liked, for Jean; A well-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird, 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, He up the lang loan, to my black cousin Bess, her, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. But a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care, But owie my left shouther I gaed him a blink, My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, I spier'd for my cousin, fu' couthie and sweet, And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet? But, heavens! how he fell a-swearin', a-swearin, He begg'd, for Gude-sake! I wad be his wife, 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, Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie: CHORUS. Sic a wife as Willie had! I wad na gie a button for her. She has an e'e-she has but ane, A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller; Her nose and chin they threaten ither. |