Page:Soldier's departure.pdf/4

 4 I’ll never like a lass again, Since I hae last my Jeanie, O.

Now I maun grane an’ greet my lane, An’ never ane to heed me, O; My claes, that ay were neat an’ clean. Can scarce be said to deed me, O; My heart is sair, my elbows bare, My pouch without a guinea, O; I’ll never taste o’ pleasure mair, Since I hae lost my Jeanie, O.

O Fortune! thou hast us’d me ill; Far waur thatt my deservin’, O; Thrice o’er the crown thou’st knock’d me down, An’ left me hafflins starvin’, O: Thy roughest blast has blawn the last; My lass ss us’d me meanlie, O; Thy sharpest dart has pierc’d my heart, An’ ta’eri frae me my Jeanie, O.

I’ll nae mair strive, while I’m alive, For aught but missin’ slavery, O. This world’s a stage, a pilgrimage, A mass o’ nought but knav’ry, O: If fickle fame but save my name, An’ frae oblivion screen me, O; Then farewell fortune, farewell love, An’ farewell bonnie Jeanie, O.