Page:Bonny Jean (1).pdf/6

6 There's mony a ane for less wad mane,

In drear kirk-yards an' a' that,

An' tell the pale moon sic a tale,

Wad break her heart an' a' that

Till frae his wits like a' that,

He'd take a race wi' a' that,

Some gloamin' grey, and syle the Tay,

Cheat fishermen, an' a' that.

But by my sooth, I wad be laith,

Sic pranks to play, an' a’ that,

Nor shall she boast, that I hae lost,

Ae hours repose for a' that.

She's fair, but what o' a' that.

There's plenty mair wi' a' that,

That glad will be to mak wi' me,

A wedding o't, an' a' that





ten-hour bell wi' heavy jow,

Had rung in ilka borough town,

The winds sough'd dreary o'er the knowe,

And night had on her blackest gown.

As at the fire I sat alane,

Wi' tears o' sorrow i' my ee,