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Dear Belly Bell and Mary Gray,

Ye unco fair oppress us ;
Our fancies jee between you twa,

Ye are fic bonny laffes :
Wae's me! for baith I canna get,

To ane by law we're ftented ;
Then I'll draw cuts, and take my fate,

And be with ane contented.

I'll never leave thee.


HO' for seven years and mair, honour thou'd

jeave me, Tofields where cannons rair, thou need na grieve thee : For deep in my spirits thy sweets are indented ;

í And love shall preserve ay what love has imprinted. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, Gang the warld as it will, deareft, believe me.

NELLY. o Jonny, I'm jealous whene'er ye discover My sentiments yielding, ye'll turn a loose rover ; And nought i' the warld wad vex my heart fairer, If you prove unconstant, and fancy ane fairer. Grieve me, grieve me, oh it wad grieve me ! A' the lang night and day, if you deceive me.

JONNY My Nelly, let never fic fancies oppress ye, For, while my blood's warm, I'll kindly caress ye: Your blooming faft beauties first beeted love's fire, Your vertue and wit make it ay fame the higher. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, Gang the warld as it will, deareft, believe me.

NELLY Then, Jonny, I frankly this minute allow ye To think me your miltriss, for love gars me trow ye;


And gin you prove fause, to ye'r sell be it faid then,
Ye'll win but sma' honour to wrong a kind maiden.
Reave me, reave me, heavens! it wad reave me
Of my rest night and day, if ye deceive me.

Bid icehogles hammer red gauds on the studdy,
And fair fimmer mornings nae mair appear ruddy,
Bid Britons think ae gate, and when they obey ye,
But never till that time, believe I'll betray ye,
Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee ;
The starns Thall gang withershins e'er I deceive thee.


My Deary, if you

die. OVE never more shall give me pain,

fancy's fix'd on thee ; Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,

My Peggy, if thou die.
Thy beauties did such pleasure give,

Thy love's so true co me:
Without thee I shall never live,

My deary, if thou die.

If fate shall tear thee from my breaft,

How shall I lonely ftray ?
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,

In fighs the filent day.
I ne'er can so much virtue find,

Nor such perfection fee :
Then I'll renounce all woman-kind,

My Peggy, after thee.

No new blown beaaty fires my

With Cupid's raving rage,
But thine which can luch Tweets imparty,

Muft all the world engage.
Twas this that like the morning sun

Gave joy and life to me ;



And when its destin'd day is done,

With Peggy let me die.
Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,

And in such pleasure share ;
You who its faithful fames approve,

With pity view the fair.
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms,

Those charms so dear to me;
Oh! never rob them from those arms :

I'm loft, if Peggy die.


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My yo J A N E T.
WEET Sir, for your courtesie,

When ye come by the Bass then,
For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a keeking glass then. Keek into the draw well,

Janet, Janet; And there ye'll fee ye'r bonny sell,

My Yo Janet.
Keeking in the draw-well clear,

What if I shou'd fa'in,
Syne a' my kin will say and swear,
I drown'd my

fell for fin. Had the better be the brae,

Janet, Janet; Had the better be the brae,

My Yo Janet. Good Sir, for your courtesie,

Coming through Aberdeen then, For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a pair of shoon then.
Clout the auld, the new are dear,

Janet, Janet;
Ae pair may gain ye haft a year,

My o Janet.

But what if dancing on the green,

And skipping like a mawking,
If they should see my clouted shoon,

Of me they will be tauking.
Dance ay laigh, and late at e'en,

Janet, Janet,
Syne a'their fauts will no be seer,

My J. Janet.
Kind Sir, for your courtesie, gae to the cross then, For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a pacing horse then. Pace upo' your fpinning-wheel,

Janet, Janet, Pace upo your spinning-wheel,

My y Janet.

My spinning-wheel is auld and ftiff,

The rock o't winna ftand, Sir, To keep the temper-pin in tiff,

Employs aft my hand, Sir, Make the best o't that

ye can,

Janet, Janet; But like it never wale a man,

My Jo Janet.

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To the Tune of, John Anderson my Jo.
HAT means this niceness now of late,

Since time that truth does prove ?
Such distance may consist with state,

But never will with love. 'Tis either cunning or disdain

That does such ways allow ; The first is tare, the last is vain :

May neither happen you.

'D 5

For For if it be to draw me on,

You over-act your part ; And if it be to have me gone,

You need not haff that art :
For if you chance a look to caft,

That seems to be a frown,
I'll give you all the love that's past,

The rest shall be my own.



ULD Rob Morris that wins in yon glen, (men,

He's the king of good fellows, and wale of auld Has fourscore of black theep, and fourscore too ; Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo.

Ha'd your tongue, mither, and let that abee,
For his eild and my eild can never agree :
They'll never agree, and that will be seen ;
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen.

M I T H E R.
Ha'd your tongue, daughter, and lay by your pride,
For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the bride :
He shall ly by your fide, and kiss ye too.
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo.

Auld Rob Morris I ken him fou weel,
His A- it sticks out like ony peet-creel,
He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-ey'd too ;
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er loo,

Tho' auld Reb Morris be an elderly man,
Yet his auld brass it will buy a new pan ;
Then, doughter, ye shouldna be so ill to shoo,
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo.


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