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Meg grew sick-as he grew hale

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!). Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O! her een, they spak sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

V. Duncan was a lad o' grace

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!), Maggie's was a piteous case,

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!):
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
Now they're crouse and canty baith-

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

MARY MORISON.

I.
O Mary, at thy window be!

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor.

How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun,

Could I the rich reward secureThe lovely Mary Morison!

II. Yestreen when to the trembling string,

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard or saw:

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town,

I sigh’d and said amang them a’:Ye are na Mary Morison!'

III.
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his

Whase only faut is loving thee?

If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown:

A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison.

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I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

IV.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,

And fare thee weel a while !
And I will come again, my luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU' KING.

It was a' for our rightfu’ king

We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land,

My dear-
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain,
My Love and Native Land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,

My dear-
For I maun cross the main.

He turned him right, and round about

Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,

My dear -
And adieu for evermore.

The sodger frae the wars returns,

The sailor frae the main;

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Flow gently, sweet? Afton, among thy green braes!
Flow gently,” I'll sing thee a song in thy praise !
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream-
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

II.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny: den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair!

III.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills!
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

1 "clear" in one MS. 2 “And grateful” in one MS.

3 One MS. has “Ye blackbirds that sing in yon wild.” 4 One MS. has "plover.” One MS. has "pure.”

IV. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

V. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides! How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave!

VI. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes ! Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring streamFlow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream!

COMIN THRO' THE RYE.

I.
Comin thro’ the rye, poor body

Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,

Comin thro' the rye!
O Jenny's a' weet poor body

Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't a her petticoatie

Comin thro' the rye.

II.
Gin a body meet a body

Comin thro’ the rye,

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