Page:Easy John.pdf/6

 Skim the loch in canty glee, Rest the ours to pleasure thee: When chilly breezes sweep the tide, I'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine, Woe in words mair saf than mine: Lowland lads hae mair of art A' my boast's an honest heart, Whlik sha' ever be my pride. To row thee in my Highland plaid.

Bouny lad ye've been see lea, My heart would break at our fareweel; Lang your love has made me fain, Take me-take me for your ain! Cross the Firth away they glide. Young, Donald and his Lowland bride.

BROM NIGHT TILL MORN.

From night till morn I take my glass, 'n hopes to forget my Chloe But though I take the pleasant draught, She's ne'er the less before me, Ah no, no no Wine cannot cure The pain endure for my Chloe.

To wine I flew to ease the pain, her beuteous charms created. But wine more firmly bound the chain, and love would not be cheated.