Gae thy ways, John Ochiltree : Hae done! it has nae fa'r wi' me. I'll fet the beaft in throw the land, She'll may be fa' in a better hand, Even fit thou there, and drink thy fill, For I'll do as I wont to do ftill. SONG. To the tune of, Jenny beguil'd the webster. The auld chorus. Up ftairs, down ftairs, Timber ftairs fear me. I'm laith to lie a' night my lane, Mither dear, I 'gin to fear, Though I'm baith good and bonny, I winna keep; for in my fleep I start and dream of Johny. Better to marry, than mifcarry ; For fhame and fkaith's the clink o't, Sae while 'tis time I'll fhun the crime, Had Epty's apron bidden down, The kirk had ne'er a kend it; But when the word's gane thro' the town; Alake how can fhe mend it? Now Tam maun face the minister, And the maun mount the pillar : And that's the way that they maun gae, For poor folk has nae filler. Now had ye'r tongue, my daughter young, SONG. To the tune of, Wat ye wha I met yereen, O' F all the birds whofe tuneful throats Do welcome in the verdant spring, When Phoebus fouthward darts his fires, Then by thyfelf, my lovely bird, my Fair maid, I'm thankfu' to my fate, To have fic company; For I'm ganging ftraight that gate, When we had gane a mile or twain, May we not lean us on this plain, - T. R SHE.. Na, if ye are contracted, S&H'E. Sir, ye are proud-hearted, ON SONG. To the tune of, I'll never leave thee. NE day I heard Mary fay, How fhall I leave thee? Stay, dearest Adonis, ftay, Why wilt thou grieve me?. Z Alas |