Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/547

Rh Yet, oh! gin heaven in mercy soon

Would grant the boon I crave,

And take this life, now naething worth,

Sin' Jamie's in his grave!

And see, his gentle spirit comes,

To show me on my way;

Surprised, nae doubt, I still am here,

Sair wondering at my stay.

I come, I come, my Jamie dear

And, oh, wi' what gude will

I follow, wheresoe'er ye lead!

Ye canna lead to ill.

She said, and soon a deadly pale

Her faded cheek possess'd;

Her waefu' heart forgot to beat;

Her sorrows sunk to rest.

[ by for Johnson's Museum from an old song to the tune of "The Ruffian's Rant," or "Roy's Wife."]

A' lads o' Thornie-bank,

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,

They'll step in and tak' a pint

Wi' lady Onlie, honest lucky!

Lady Onlie, honest lucky,

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky;

I wish her sale for her guid ale,

The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.

Her house sae bien, her curshe sae clean,

I wat she is a dainty chucky;

And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed

Of lady Onlie, honest lucky!

Lady Onlie, &c.

[ by for Johnson's Museum, the old tune of "The Ruffian's Rant," an air now better known by the name of "Roy's Wife Of Aldivalloch."]

coming by the brig o' Dye,

At Darlet we a blink did tarry;

As day was dawin' in the sky,

We drank a health to bonnie Mary.

Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary,

Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary;

Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,

Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white,

Her haffet locks as brown's a berry;

And ay they dimpl't wi' a smile,

The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary.

Theniel Menzies', &c.

We lap and danced the lee lang day,

Till piper lads were wae and weary;

But Charlie gat the spring to pay,

For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.

Theniel Menzies', &c.

[ is another song by, to the tune of "The Ruffian's Rant," furnished by him in 1794 for Thomson's collection.]

thou leave me thus, my Katy?

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?

Well though know'st my aching heart,

And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

Is this thy plighted fond regard,

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?

Is this thy faithful swain's reward—

An aching, broken heart, my Katy?

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy?

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear—

But not a love like mine, my Katy.

REPLY.

[ an English lady (Mrs. of Woodleigh Park.)]

, my Willie—yet believe me,

Stay, my Willie—yet believe me;

'Tweel, thou know'st na every pang

Wad wring my bosom shouldat thou leave me.