Page:Irish maniac.pdf/7

 Yestreen when to the trembling string,

The dance gaes' thro' the lighted ha'

To the my fancy took its wing,

I sat but neither heard nor saw.

Tho' t' was fair and that was braw

And you the toast of a the town,

I sigh'd and said amang them a, —

"Ye are nae Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?

Or canst thou hreak that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee ?

If love for love thou wilt on gie.

at least ha pity to me shown;

A thought ungentle canna be,

The thought o' Mary Morison.

Thee deil cam fiddling through the town,

And danced awa wi' the Exciseman;

And ilk auld wife cry'd, "Auld Mahoun,

"We wish you luck o' the prize man,

We'll mak' our maut, and brew our drink,

We'll dance and sing and rejoice, man,