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Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

Across th' Atlantic roar?

II. O, sweet grows the lime and the orange,

And the apple on the pine; But a' the charms o' the Indies

Can never equal thine.

III. I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true, And sae may the Heavens forget me

When I forget my vow!

IV.
O, plight me your faith, my Mary

And plight me your lily-white hand!
O, plight me your faith, my Mary,

Before I leave Scotia's strand!

V.
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,

In mutual affection to join:
And curst be the cause that shall part us!

The hour and the moment o' time!

AE FOND KISS.

I. AE fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae farewell and then for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him!
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

II.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy!
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

III.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest;
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

O, LEEZE ME ON MY SPINNIN-WHEEL.

1.
O, leeze me on my spinnin-wheel!
And, leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e’en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the summer sun,

Blest wi' content, and milk and mealOh leeze me on my spinnin-wheel!

II. On ilka hand the burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot; The scented birk an' hawthorn white, Across the pool their arms unite, Alike to screen the birdie's nest And little fishes' caller rest: The sun blinks kindly in the biel, Where blythe I turn my spinnin-wheel.

III.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays;
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinnin-wheel.

IV. Wisma' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O, wha wad leave this humble state, For a'the pride of a' the great ? Amid their flaring, idle toys, Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinnin-wheel?

THE DEIL'S AWA.

CHORUS.
THE Deil's awa, the Deil's awa,

The Deil's awa wi' th’ Exciseman;
He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,

He's danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman!

1.
The Deil cam' fiddling through the town,

An' danced awa' wi th' Exciseman,
And ilka wifel cries :"Auld Mahoun,

I wish you luck o' the prize, man!"

II.
We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink,

We'll laugh and sing, and rejoice, man;
And monie braw thanks to the meikle black Deil

That danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman.

III.
There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,

There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land

Was-The Deil's Awa' wi' th' Exciseman.

CHORUS.
The Deil's awa, the Deil's awa',

The Deil's awa wi' th Exciseman;
He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,

He's danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman.

2 Another reading is

1 Another reading is “ilk auld wife.” "dance and sing.”

DUNCAN GRAY.

I.
DUNCAN GRAY cam here to woo

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) On blythe Yule-Night when we were fou,

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

II.
Duncan fleech’d, and Duncan pray'd;

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!). Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleert an' blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

III.
Time and chance are but a tide,

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!): Slighted love is sair to bide

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!). ‘Shall I, like a fool', quoth he, ‘For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to-France for me'!-

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

IV.
How it comes let doctors tell

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!):

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