Page:Lewie Gordon (2).pdf/6

 For my true love has me forsook,

And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me;

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me.

Mart'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves aff the tree?

O gentle death, when wilt thou cum?

For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;

‘Tis not sick cauld that makes me cry,

But my love's heart's grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see;

My love was clad i‘ th’ black velvet,

And I mysel in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kist,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I had lock'd my heart in a case of gowd,

And pinn'd it with a siller pin.