Page:Mary, O.pdf/2

 M A R Y, O

Tune—Gloomy Winter's now awa.

Harp, come let us sing,

Come let me brace ilk gowden string,

And warble owre some bonny spring,

In praise o’ my sweet Mary, O.

The lay along let sweetly move,

Freely let the love-notes rove,

Peerless, yea, resound my love,

My blythe, my bonny Mary, O.

For O she’s handsome, sweet, and fair,

Blooming, sprightly, mild and rare;

Ne’er shall maid wi her compare,

My blythe, my darling Mary, O.

Tho' Burns divine, in rapture keen,

Sang sweetly o’ his "Bonnie Jean,"

She scarcely e'er in shape or mien,

Could match my bonny Mary, O.

The Taneahill, in numbers fain,

Extoll'd his "Jessie o’ Dumb aneDumblane [sic],"

And tho' her praises charm ilk swain,

Excell'd she's now by Mary, O

O had thae twa sweet bards but seen