Page:A'body's like to be married but me.pdf/5

 But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
 * For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
 * When He who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,
 * The word to pipe all hands.

Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,
 * In vain Tom's life had doff'd;

For, tho' his body's under hatches,
 * His soul is gone aloft.

yon hills where Lugar flows,
 * 'Mang moors and mosses many, O,

the wintry sun the day has clos'd,
 * And I'll awa to Nannie, O.

The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill;
 * The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;

But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal,
 * And o'er the hill to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young
 * Nae artfu' wiles to win

May ill befa' the flattering tongue
 * The wad beguile my Nannie, O.

Her face is fair, her hear is true,
 * As spotless as she's bonnie, O;