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I hae gowd and gear, I hae land enough,
I hae feven good owfen ganging in a pleugh,
Ganging in a pleugh, and linking o'er the lee,
And gin ye winna take me, I can let ye be.

I hae a good ha' house, a barn and a byre,
A ftack afore the door, I'll make a rantin fire,
I'll make a rantin fire, and merry fhall we be :
And gin ye winna take me, I can let be.
ye

Jeany faid to Jocky,

Ye fhall be the lad,

Gin ye winna tell,

I'll be the lafs myfell.

Ye're a bonny lad, and I'm a laffie free,

Ye're welcomer to take me than to let me be.. Z.

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SONG.

To the tune of, Peggy, I must love thee.

Eneath a beech's grateful shade,
Young Colin lay complaining;
He figh'd, and feem'd to love a maid,
Without hopes of obtaining :
For thus the fwain indulg'd his grief,
Though pity cannot move thee,
Though thy hard heart gives no relief,
Yet, Peggy, I must love thee.

Say, Peggy, what has Colin done,
That thus you cruelly use him?
If love's a fault, 'tis that alone

For which you fhould excufe him!
'Twas thy dear felf first rais'd this flame,
This fire by which I languish;
'Tis thou alone can quench the fame,
And cool its scorching anguish.

For

For thee I leave the sportive plain,
Where ev'ry maid invites me;
For thee, fole cause of all my pain,
For thee that only flights me:
This love that fires my faithful heart
By all but thee's commended.
Oh would thou act fo good a part,
My grief might foon be ended.

That beauteous breaft, fo foft to feel,
Seem'd tenderness all over,
Yet it defends thy heart like fteel,
'Gainft thy defpairing lover.
Alas! tho' fhould it ne'er relent,
Nor Colin's care e'er move thee,
Yet till life's latest breath is spent,
My Peggy, I must love thee.

C.

Genty TIBBY, and fonfy NELLY.

To the tune of, Tibby Fowler in the glen.

Τ

Ibby has a ftore o' charms,

Her genty fhape our fancy warms; How ftrangely can her fma' white arms Fetter the lad who looks but at her ? Fra'er ancle to her flender waist,

These fweets conceal'd invite to dawt her

Her rofy cheek, and rifing breast,

Gar ane's mouth gush bowt fu' o' water.

Nelly's gawfy, faft, and gay,

Fresh as the lucken flowers in May;
Ilk ane that fees her, cries, Ah hey
She's bonny! O Iwonder at her!
The dimples of her chin and cheek,
And limbs fae plump invite to dawt her;
Her lips fae fweet, and skin fae fleek,
Gar mony mouths befide mine water.

Now

Now ftrike my finger in a bore,
My wyfon with the maiden fhore,
Gin I can tell whilk 1 am for,
When these twa ftars appear
the gither.
O love! why doft thou gi'e thy fires
Sae large, while we're oblig'd to nither
Our fpacious fauls immenfe defires,
And ay be in a hankerin fwither.

Tibby's fhape and airs are fine,
And Nelly's beauties are divine:
But fince they canna baith be mine,
Ye gods, give ear to my petition
Provide a good lad for the tane,
But let it be with this provifion,
get the other to my lane,

I

In profpect plano and fruition.

NOW

UP IN THE AIR.

OW the fun's gane out o' fight,
Beet the ingle, and fnuff the light;
In glens the fairies fkip and dance,
And witches wallop o'er to France.
Up in the air

On my bonny gray mare,

And I see her yet, and I fee her yet.
Up in, &c.

The wind's drifting hail and fna',
O'er frozen hags, like a foot-ba';
Nae ftarns keek thro' the azure flit,
'Tis cauld, and mirk as ony pit.
The man i' the moon
Is caroufing aboon;

D'ye fee, d'ye fee, d' ye fee him yet?

The man, &c.

VOL. I.

*G

Take

Take your glafs to clear your een,
"Tis the elixir heals the spleen,
Baith wit and mirth it will infpire,
And gently puffs the lover's fire.
Up in the air,

It drives away care;

Ha'e wi'ye, ha'e wi' ye, and ha'e wi' ye, lads, yet, Up in, &c.

Steek the doors, keep out the frost ;
Come, Willie, gie's about ye'r toast ;
Til't lads, and lilt it out,

And let us ha'e a blythsome bout.
Up wi't there, there,

Dinna cheat, but drink fair:

Huzza, huzza, and huzza, lads, yet,
Up wi't, &c.

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Be fure ye dinna quit the grip
Of ilka joy, when ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,

And lay ye twafald o'er a rung.

Sweet youth's a blyth and heartfome time:
Then, lads and laffes, while 'tis May,
Gae pu' the gowan in its prime,

Before it wither and decay,

Watch the faft minutes of delyte,

When Jenny fpeaks beneath her breath, And kiffes, laying a' the wyte

On

you, if the kepp ony fkaith.

Haith ye're ill-bred, fhe'll fmiling fay,
Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook:
Syne frae your arms fhe'll rin away,
And hide herself in fome dark nook.

Her laugh will lead you to the place,
Where lies the happiness ye want,
And plainly tell you to your face,
Nineteen na-fays are ha'f a grant.

Now to her heaving bofom cling,
And fweetly toolie for a kifs:
Frae her fair finger whoop a ring,
As taiken of a future blifs.

Thefe bennifons, I'm very furc,
Are of the gods indulgent grant:
Then, furly carls, whisht, forbear
To plague us with your whining cant.

B

PATIE and PEGGY.

PATIE.

Y the delicious warmnefs of thy mouth,

And rowing eye, which smiling tells the truth, I guefs, my laffie, that as well as I

You're made for love, and why should ye deny?

PEGGY.

But ken ye, lad, gin we confefs o'er foon,
Ye think us cheap, and fyne the wooing's done :
The maiden that o'er quickly tines her pow'r,
Like unripe fruit, will tafte but hard and four.

PATIE.

But when they hing o'er lang upon the tree,
Their fweetnefs they may tine, and fae may ye:
Red-cheeked you completely ripe appear,
And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang ha'f-year.

G 2

PEGGY

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