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 Hair like the mornin's gouden beam
 * On the tapmaist mountain hie;

An' oh! when drest in tartan sheen,
 * Beauty's power is ill to dree.

Auld farran, &c.

Her lips would mak the cherry blush
 * Deeper red—though red it be;

An' weel like I the dew to brush
 * Frae her lips sae sweet an' wee.

Auld farran, &c.

But saw nae ye the Jassie then,
 * Thro' the wood or owre the lea?

tho' ye're the wale o' cantiest men,
 * To see her quickly maun I flee.


 * Fare ye weel then funnie bodie,
 * When ye ca' 't the Netherlee,
 * Spier for me, auld farran bodie,
 * Then the lassie dear ye'll see.

Tho' weel I like ye, Johnny lad,
 * I cannot, maunet marry yet!

My peer auld mudder's unco bad,
 * Sae we a while maun tarry yet.

For ease and comfort she has nane, Lyfe's just a lang, lang neet o' pain; I maunet leave her a' her lane,
 * And wunet, wunet marry yet.