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132 An' dey runs an' hides dey faces; dey ain't skeered—dey's lettin' on; But de play ain't raaly ovah 'twell dat buga-man is gone.

So I jes teks up my banjo, an' I plays a little chune, An' you see dem haids come peepin' out to listen mighty soon. Den my wife say, " Sich a pappy fu to gin you sich a fright! Jes you go to baid, an' leave him; say yo' prayers, an'say good night."

As May Margaret sat in her bowerie, in her bower all alone, Just at the parting o' midnight, she heard a mournful moan. " Oh, is it my father, oh, is it my mother, oh, is it my brother John; Or is it Sweet William, my ain true love, to Scotland new come home?"

"It is na thy father, it is na thy mother, it is na thy brother John; But it is Sweet William, thy ain true love, to Scotland new come home." "Oh, hae ye brought onie fine things, onie new things for to wear, Or hae ye brought me a braid of lace to snood up my gowden hair?"

"I've brought you no fine things, nor onie new things to wear, Nor have I brought you a braid of lace to snood up your gowden hair. Oh, dear Margaret, oh, sweet Margaret, I pray thee speak to me; Gie me my faith and troth, Margaret, as I gave it to thee!"

"Thy faith and troth thou's never get, nor yet will I thee lend, Till thou come within my bower and kiss my cheek and chin."