Page:Five excellent songs (9).pdf/3

 Poor stag! the dogs thy haunches gore,
 * The tears run down thy face,

The huntsman's pleasure is no more,
 * His joys were in the chace;

Alike the generous sportsman burns
 * To win the blooming fair,

But yet he honours each by turns,
 * They each become his care.

When John and me were married,
 * Our hading was but sma',

For my minnie, cankert carlin,
 * Would gie us nocht ava;

I wairt my fee wi canny care,
 * As far as it would gae,

But weel I wat our bridal bed
 * Was clean pea strae.

Wi working late and early,
 * We're come to what you see,

For fortune thrave aneath our hands,
 * Sae eydent ay were we.