MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE. CRAWFORD. TUNE-My dearie, if thou dee. Love never more shall give me pain, Thy beauties did such pleasure give, If fate shall tear thee from my breast, In dreary dreams the night I'll waste, I ne'er can so much virtue find, Then I'll renounce all womankind, No new-blown beauty fires my heart, But thine, which can such sweets impart, Gave joy and life to me; And, when its destined day is done, Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, Ye who its faithful flames approve, Restore my Peggie's wonted charms, Those charms so dear to me; Oh, never rob them from those arms- LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. BURNS. TUNE-The Lothian Lassie. LAST May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men : The deuce gae wi' him to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi' him to believe me! He spak' o' the darts o' my bonnie black een, A weel-stockit mailin', himsell for the laird, But thocht I micht hae a waur offer, waur offer, But, what wad ye think, in a fortnicht or less,— He up the lang loan to my black cousin BessGuess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear her, Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her! But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care, And wha but my braw fickle wooer was there? From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. Out ower my left shouther I gi'ed him a blink, I speir'd for my cousin, fou couthie and sweet, And how my auld shoon fitted her shauchled feet?* He begged, for gudesake! I wad be his wife, Sae, e'en to preserve the puir body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. BURNS. TUNE-Rothiemurchus' Rant. LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks, Now Nature cleads the flowery lea, * In Scotland, when a cast-off lover pays his addresses to a new mistress, that new mistress is said to have got the auld shoon (old shoes) of the former one. Here the metaphor is made to carry an extremely ingenious sarcasm at the clumsiness of the new mistress's person. P And when the welcome simmer shower When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, And when the howling wintry blast I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE. THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. My dear and only love, I pray As Alexander I will reign, He either fears his fate too much, Who dares not put it to the touch, But I will reign, and govern still, And in the empire of thy heart, But if no faithless action stain GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO MARCH, march, why the deil dinna ye march? Stand to your arms, my lads; fight in good order. Front about, ye musketeers all, Till ye come to the English Border. The earliest publication, in which I have observed this beautiful poem in print, is Watson's "Collection of Scots Poems," Part III. 1711. |