Page:Merry may the maid be.pdf/7

 7 They busk us braw as e'er they can,

They go to the fair to get a man,

They all rank up about the cross,

Lads come and take them up by force.

O rare country Lasses, O rare Lasses O

Then next a fiddle they do want

key they, we'll have a clever rant

Then bid them for to chuse their spring,

Due's Dainty Davie—ony thing, &c.

They dance and loup as they were daft

and are like to ding down the laft;

They dance till they are out of breath,

And to leave it are very laith, O'rare &c.

The Lasses say they must away,

Because they dare no longer stay;

O, says the Lads stay yet a while,

and we will go with you a mile, O rare, &c.

Then homeward they do steer again,

The Lads have nothing for their pain,

at now their money is all gone,

Which makes them rue when they come home, &c.

The Lasses will laugh at them now,

Ans say they ne'er had kiss'd their mow',