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JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

IMPROVED BY

ROBERT BURNS.

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John Anderson, my jo, Joho,

I wonder what you mean,
To rise so soon in the morning,

And sit up so late at e'en.
Ye'll blear out a' your e'en, Joho,

And why should you do so ?
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en,

John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,

When pature first began
To try her canny hand, John,

Her master-work was Man;
And you amang them a', John,

Sae trig from top to toe,
She prov'd to be nae journey-work,

John Anderson, my jo.
Jobn Anderson, my jo, John,

Ye were my first conceit,
And ye need na think it strange, John,

Tho' I ca' ye trim and neat;
Tho' some folks say ye're auld, John,

I never think yé so,
But I think ye're ay the same to me,

John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,

We've seen our bairns' bairus,
And yet, my dear John Anderson,

I'm happy in your arms;
And sae are ye in mine, John

I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no,
Tho?the days are gone that we have scen,

John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,

What pleasure does it gie,

To see sae many sprouts, John,

Spring up 'tween you and me;
And ilka lad and lass, Joho,

In our footsteps to go,
Makes perfect heaven here on earth,

John Anderson, my jo.
Jobn Anderson, my jo, John,

When we were first acquaint, Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonny brow was brent: But now your head's lurn'd bald, John,

Your locks are like the snow, Yet blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,

Frae year to year we've past,
And soon that year maun come, John,

Will bring us to our last;
But let na that affright as, John,

Our hearts were ne'er our foe,
While in innocent delight we liv’d,

John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go,
And we'll sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they call it Linkumdoddie, Willie was a wabster gude,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony boddie;

He had a wife was dour un' din,
A Tinkler Madgie was her mither;

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 vera 'colour;
Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller :
A whiskin beard about her mou,
Her pose and chin they threaten ither :

Sic a wife, &c.
She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,

Ae limpio 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.
Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,

An' wi' her loof her face a washin;
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;
Her walie pieves like midden-creels,
Her face wad fyle the Loggan-water;

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad nae gie a button for her.

CALEDONIA. THEIR

groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lando reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exhale the per

fume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o'green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow

broom. Far dearer to me yon low-humble broom bow'rs,

Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,

A list’ning the linnet aft wanders my Jean. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud

palace, What are they? -the haunt o' the tyrant and

slave. The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling foun

tains, The brave Caledonian views with disdain; He wanders as free as the wind on his mountains,

Save love's willing fetters, the chains of bis Jean.

O LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT.

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou wakin, I would wit;
For love has bound me, hand and fit,
And I would fain be in, jo.

O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake, this ae night,

o rise and let me in, jo.
Out oe'r the moss, out o'er the muir
I came, this dark and dreary hour,
And here I stand without the door,
Amid the pouring storm, jo.

&c.
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet:
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.

O let me in, &c.

o let me,

The bitter blast around me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
O’a'ry grief and pain, jo.

O let me in, &c.

HER ANSWER.
OTELL na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid pa me wi' cauld disdain,
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I wiona let you in, jo.

I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a' this ae night,

I winna let you in, jo.
The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand'rer pours,
Is notcht to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.

I tell you now, &c.
The sweetest flow'r that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed:
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.

I tell you now, &c. The bird that charm'd his summer-day, Is now the cruel fowler's prey: Let witless trusting woman say How aft her fate's the same, jo.

I tell you now, &c.

THE BRAES O'BALLOCHMYLE.

The Catrine woods were yellow seen,

The flow’rs decay'd on Catrine lee;

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