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O, there were mony beating hearts,

And mony a hope and fear,
And mony were the prayers put up

For the young Chevalier.

O Charlie is my darling,

My darling, my darling~
O Charlie is my darling,

The young Chevalier!






The bride cam' out o' the byre,

And O, as she dighted' her cheeks,
Sirs, I'm to be married the-night,

And ha'e neither blankets nor sheets
Ha'e neither blankets nor sheets,

Nor scarce a coverlet too;
The bride that has a' thing to borrow,

Has e'en right meikle' ado!'

Wooed and married and a'!
Married and wooed and a'!
And was she na very weel aff
That was wooed and married and a'?

Out spake the bride's father

As he cam' in frae the pleugh,
'O haud your tongue, my dochter,

And ye'se get gear* eneugh.
The stirk® stands i’ the tether,

And our braw bawsint yade
Will carry hame your corn:-

What wad ye be at, ye jade?'
1 Wiped.

Much. & You shall. • Property.

6 Fine white-faced mare.

• Steer.

Out spake the bride's mither :

'What, deil, needs a' this pride ?
I hadna a plack’ in my pouch

That night I was a bride.
My gown was linsey-wolsey,

And ne'er a sarkø ava;
And ye ha'e ribbons and buskin's

Mae than ane or twa.'

Out spake the bride's brither

As he cam' in wi’ the kye :'
'Puir Willie wad ne'er ha'e ta'en ye

Had he kent ye as weel as I.
For ye're baith proud and saucy,

And no for a puir man's wife;
Gin" I canna get a better

I'se ne'er tak' ane i my life!'

Out spake the bride's sister

As she cam' in frae the byre;
'Oh, gin I were but married,

It's a' that I desire !
But we puir folk maun live,

And do the best we can;
I dinna ken what I should want

If I could get but a man!'




COME, gi'es sang, Montgom'rie cried,
And lay your disputes a' aside;
What signifies for folks to chide

For what was done before them?
Let Whig and Tory a' agree,

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, : Four-pence Scots. Chemise. • Ornaments. 10 More. 11 Cows.

10 If.

Whig and Tory a' agree

To drop their whigmigmorum; Let Whig and Tory a' agree To spend this night in mirth and glee, And cheerfu' sing, alang wi' me,

The reel o' Tullochgorum.

O Tullochgorum's my delight;
It gars us a' in ane unite;
And ony sumph that keeps up spite,

In conscience I abhor him.
Blithe and merry we'll be a',
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,
Blithe and merry we'll be a'
And mak'

cheerfu' quorum.
For blithe and merry we'll be a'
As lang as we ha'e breath to draw,
And dance, till we be like to fa',

The reel o' Tullochgorum.

What needs there be sae great a fraise
Wi' dringin', dull Italian lays?
I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys

For half a hunder score o' them.
They're dowf and dowie at the best,
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie,
Dowf and dowie at the best,

Wi' a' their variorum.
They're dowf and dowie at the best,
Their allegros and a' the rest;
They canna please a Scottish taste

Compared wi' Tullochgorum.

Let worldly worms their minds oppress
Wi' fears o' want and double cess,
And sullen sots themsel's distress

Wi' keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit?
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Şour and sulky shall we sit,

Like auld philosophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
Nor ever rise to shake a fit

To the reel o' Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings aye attend
Each honest, open-hearted friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,

And a' that's gude watch o'er him!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
Peace and plenty be his lot,

And dainties a great store o' them!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstained by ony vicious spot,
And may he never want a groat,

That's fond o' Tullochgorum!
But for the discontented fool,
Wha wants to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour him!
May dule and sorrow be his chance,
Dule and sorrow, dule and sorrow,
Dule and sorrow be his chance,

And nane say ‘Wae's me for him!'
May dule and sorrow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whae'er he be that winna dance

The reel o' Tullochgorum!




HAIL! beauteous Stranger of the wood !

Attendant on the Spring!
Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flow'rs,
When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet

Of birds among the bow'rs.

The schoolboy wand'ring in the wood

To pull the flow'rs so gay,
Starts, thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

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Alas! sweet bird ! not so my fate,

Dark scowling skies I see
Fast gathering round, and fraught with woe

And wintry years to me.

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