Gin a body Kiss a body, III. Gin a body meet a body OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, O. I. O, open the door, some pity to show, If love it mayna be, O! Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true- II. Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, O: III. The wan moon sets behind the white wave; False friends, false love, farewell! for mair IV. She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; "My true love!" she cried, an' sank down by his side, Never to rise again, O! AULD LANG SYNE. CHORUS. FOR auld lang syne, my dear, We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, I. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, II. And surely you'll be your pint-stoup, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet III. We twa ha'e ran about the braes, But we've wandered monie a weary foot, IV. We twa ha'e paidl'd in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. V. And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, 1 One MS. has "And days o'." O MAY, THY MORN.-JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. 127 An' we'll tak' a right guid-willie waught, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet O MAY, THY MORN. I. O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, II. And here's to them that like oursel, And here's to them that wish us weel JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. I. JOCKEY'S ta'en the parting kiss, O'er the mountains he is gane; And with him is a' my bliss Nought but griefs with me remain. II. Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, Plashy sleets and beating rain! Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, Drifting o'er the frozen plain. III. When the shades of evening creep O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blythe his waukening be! IV. He will think on her he loves, SCOTS WHA HAE. I. SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Or to victorie! II. Now's the day, and now's the hour: See the front o' battle lour, See approach proud Edward's powerChains and slaverie! III. Wha will be a traitor knave? Let him turn and flee! IV. Wha for Scotland's King and Law V. By Oppression's woes and pains, VI. Lay the proud usurpers low! IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY. I. Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an' a that? Our toils obscure, an' a' that; Burns, Poems. 9 |