There's nane fhall dare by deed or word. 'Gainft her to wag a tongue or finger, While I can wield my trufty fword, Or frae my fide whifk out a whinger.. O my bonny, &c. The mountains clad with purple bloom, My lovely fmiling highland laffie, But bloom of youth ftill bless my laffie. His fuit I ill deny'd, He kifs'd, and I comply'd: I'm glad when Jocky comes, Had away from me, DONALD. Come away, come away, Come away wi' me, Jenny; Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane. Whafe fmiles ånes ravish'd me, Jenny; First when your fweets enflav'd my heart, That speaks unconflancy, Jenny ; "Tis not befitting thee, Jenny; It fuits not with your virtue nice To carry fae to me, Jenny. Her ANSWER.. ६ Had away, had away, O Had away frae me, Donald ; Your heart is made o'er large for ane, Some Some fickle mistress you may find And nae lefs kind to thee, Donald. But I've a heart that's naething fuch, Therefore nae mair, with art, pretend First when you courted, I must own The man efteem'd by me, Donald; away, And now, for ever, had For ane that's liker me, Donald; If fic a ane I canna find, I'll ne'er loo man, nor thee, Donald.. DONALD. Then I'm thy man, and falfe report - To try thy truth, and make us fport, JENNY. When this ye prove, and still can love, Todlen W Todlen butt, and todlen ben. 7 Hen I've a faxpence under my thumb, Coudna my loove come todlen bame ? Fair fa' the goodwife, and fend her good fale, She gi'es us white bannocks to drink her ale, Syne if that her tippony chance to be sma', We'll tak a good fcour o't, and ca't awa'. Todlen hame, todlen hame, As round as a neep come todlen hame. My kimmer and I lay down to fleep, Todlen butt, and todlen ben, Sae round as my loove comes todlen hame. Leez me on liquor, my todlen dow, Ye're ay fae good-humour'd when weeting your mou That 'tis a blyth fight to the bairns and me. When round as a neep ye come todlen hame. The Auld Man's beft Argument. To the tune of, Widow, are ye wawkin?; Wha's that at my chamber-door? Auld carl, your fuit give o'er, Z.. Gi'e me a lad that's young and tight, Sweet like an April meadow; "Tis fic as he can blefs the fight And bofom of a widow. "O widow, wilt thou let me in, Or gentle born ye be, bot youth ? "Then, widow, let thefe guineas fpeak, 'T The peremptor Lover. To the tune of, John Anderson, my jo. Is not your beauty, nor your wit, For they cou'd never conquer yet, Henceforth I'll fcorn your flave to be, Think not my fancy to o'ercome, No fmoothed fight, nor fmiling frown, Pray |