Page:Rigs o' barley (2).pdf/4

 I try'd to soothe my am'rous flame,

in words that I thought tender,

I more than pass'd I'm not to blame;

I mean not to offend her:

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,

the fields we then frequented,

Where'ere she meets she shows disdain,

she looks as ne'er aquainted.

The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May,

its sweets I'll ay remember,

But now her sweets makes it decay,

it fades as in December.

Ye rural powers who hear my strains,

why thus should Peggy grieve me,

Oh I make her partners in my pains,

then ether smiles relieve me.

If not, my love will turn despair,

my passion no more tender:

I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,

to lonely woods I'll wander,

 

It was on a Mondays-morning,

right early in the year,

That Charlie he came to this town,

recruiting Granadiers.

And Charlie he's my darling,

My darling, my darling,