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 Talk of fairies and witches that ride in the wind.
 * and of Ghoſts, till their all in a ſweat:

Heav'n grant in this ſeaſon it may be my lot,
 * with the nymph whom I love and admire,

Whilſt the icicle: hang from the eves of my cot
 * I may thither in ſafety retire.

Where in neatneſs and quiet, and free from ſurpriſe
 * we me live and no hardſhips endure,

Nor feel any turbulent paſions ariſe,
 * but ſuch as each other may cure.

OUP ſent a letter frae Dunbar, Charlie meet me an ye dare, And I'll learn you the art of war. If you'll meet wi' me in the morning.


 * Hey Johnny Coup are ye waking yet,
 * Or are your drums a-beating yet,
 * If ye were waking I wou'd wait,
 * To gang to the coals in the morning.