#Scots #XVIIICentury
SHE’S fair and fause that causes… I lo’ed her meikle and lang; She’s broken her vow, she’s broken… And I may e’en gae hang. A coof cam in wi’ routh o’ gear,
O, wilt thou go wi’ me, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar? O, wilt thou go wi’ me, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Wilt thou ride on a horse,
How can my poor heart be glad, When absent from my Sailor lad; How can I the thought forego, He’s on the seas to meet the foe: Let me wander, let me rove,
THERE was once a day, but old T… That brave Caledonia, the chief o… From some of your northern deities… (Who knows not that brave Caledon… From Tweed to the Orcades was her…
There’s nane that’s blest of human… But the cheerful and the gay, man. Here’s a bottle and an honest frie… What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end,
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and mi… Our lassies a’ she far excels, An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueis… She’s sweeter than the morning daw…
WAE worth thy power, thou cursed… Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief… For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my las… For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glas… I see the children of affliction
O Poortith cauld, and restless lo… Ye wrack my peace between ye; Yet poortith a’ I could forgive An ’twere na for my Jeanie. O why should Fate sic pleasure ha…
My heart is a-breaking, dear Titt… Some counsel unto me come len’; To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fello…
WHEN dear Clarinda, 1 matchless… First struck Sylvander’s raptur’d… He gaz’d, he listened to despair, Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. Love, from Clarinda’s heavenly ey…
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
WHY am I loth to leave this eart… Have I so found it full of pleasi… Some drops of joy with draughts of… Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renew… Is it departing pangs my soul alar…
Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:
It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the puddin—race… Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace