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 His voice it was too ſhrill, he pitch'd o'er high for me; And ay ſinſyne I remember that I've been likin' to die.

Then my laddie was ſeut for, and he came hingin' his mou'; Says Mefs John, had you been a good bairn, we wadna hae ſent for you: My laſſie is lyin ſick, an on you ſhe lays a' the blame: An ye ken ony way ye've wrangd her, ye'll raiſe her as ſpeedy again.

O I never harmd your laie neither by night nor by day; But it was n a fine ſimmer evening, when croſſing o'er the way, When croſſing o'er the way, I learn'd her how to ſing, And pitching the high notes banger, has driven her a out o' tune,

Be pleas d to marry your laſſie, O marry your laſſie to me! For I'm reſolv'd to hae her, whether ſhe live or die, Whether ſhe live or die, to mak her my wedded wife. So I'll live with my laſſie a ſweet and contented life.