Page:Four songs (16).pdf/5

 Quo' Janet, O keep the riot !
 * Last night, man, I dream'd ye was dead ;

This aught days I tentit a
 * Sit chatt'rin upo' the house head.

An' yesterday, workin my stockin,
 * An' you wi' the sheep on the hill,

A muckle black corbie sat croakin ;
 * it foreboded some ill.

Hout, chear up, dear Janet, be hearty,
 * For ere the next sun may down,

Wha kens but I'll shoot Bonaparte,
 * An' end my days in renown.

Then hear me, quo' Janet, I pray thee,
 * I'll tend thee, love, living or dead,

An' if thou shou'd fa', I'll die with thee.
 * Or tie up thy wounds if thou bleed.

in a fury he stumpled,
 * Wi' bullets, an', an' gun ;

At's curpin auld Janet too humpled,
 * Awa to the next neighb'rin town.

There footmen an' yeomen paradin,
 * To scour aff in dirdum were seen ;

Auld wives an' young lasses a-sheddin
 * The briny saut tears frae their een.