Page:Hawking wench, or, Gowf my logie.pdf/5



With the least glance, a little kind,
 * such won’rqus paw’rs have Mira’s charms

She arms my doubts, enslaves my mind,
 * and all my rage disarms.

Forgetful of her broken vows,
 * when gazing on that form divine!

Her injur’d vassal trembling bows,
 * nor dares her slave repine.

HE ploughman’s he’s a bonny lad, and all his work’s at leisure, And when that he comes hame at e’en, he kisses me with pleasure.

Up wi’t a’ my ploughman lad, up wi’t a' my ploughman, Of a’ the lads that I do know, commend me to the ploughman.

Now the blooming Spring comes on, he takes his yoking fairly, And whistles o’er the sarrow’d land, he goes to fallow early. Up wi’t a’, &c.

The ploughman he comes hame at e’en, he’s often wet and weary, Cast ass the wet, put on the dry, come to your bed my deary. Up wi’t a’, &c.