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'For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me :
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's ee,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear :
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.'

'O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught! The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; But aye fu' han't is fechtin best,

A hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend, and some will spare, An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.'

'O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve The gowd and siller canna buy: We may be poor-Robie and I,

Light is the burden luve lays on;

Content and luve brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne?'

TUNE

FAIR ELIZA.

THE BONIE BRUCKET LASSIE.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part,

Rew on thy despairing lover!

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?

Turn again, thou fair Eliza ;
If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise !

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee;
Canst thou wreck his peace for

ever,

Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sinny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon ;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens in his ee,

Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang:

She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.

A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,

Sae let the bonie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,

Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has❜t by kind:

O Woman lovely, Woman fair!
An Angel form's faun to thy share,

'Twad been o'er meikle to've gien thee mair,
I mean an Angel mind.

THE POSIE.

O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be

seen,

O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ; But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,

And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer:

And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonie mou ; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging

blue,

And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,

And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away;

And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae

clear:

The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear, And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above,

That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve,

And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May.

THE BANKS O DOON.

TUNE-THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT.'

YE banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care!

Thou❜lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed-never to return.

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate,

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Upon a morn in June ;

And sae I flourish'd on the morn,
And sae was pu’d on noon.

VERSION PRINTED IN THE MUSICAL
MUSEUM.

YE flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days,

When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,

To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.

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