#Scots #XVIIICentury
Ye flowery banks o’ bonnie 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…
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad! Whare hae ye been sae brankie O? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie O? An ye had been whare I hae been,
I Hae a wife o’ my ain, I’ll partake wi’ naebody; I’ll tak Cuckold frae nane, I’ll gie Cuckold to naebody. I hae a penny to spend,
The heather was blooming, the mead… Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at… O’er moors and o’er mosses and mon… At length they discover’d a bonie… Chorus.-I rede you, beware at the…
Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d wi… A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road,
Humid seal of soft affections, Tend’rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love’s first snow—drop, virgin kis… Speaking silence, dumb confession,
KNOW thou, O stranger to the fam… Of this much lov’d, much honoured… (For none that knew him need be to… A warmer heart death ne’er made co…
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! McPherson’s time will not be long… On yonder gallows-tree. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
NO more of your guests, be they t… And cookery the first in the natio… Who is proof to thy personal conve… Is proof to all other temptation.
There was a bonie lass, And a bonie, bonie lass, And she lo’ed her bonie laddie dea… Till War’s loud alarms Tore her laddie frae her arms,
MY Sandy gied to me a ring, Was a’ beset wi’ diamonds fine; But I gied him a far better thing… I gied my heart in pledge o’ his r… Chorus.—My Sandy O, my Sandy O,
John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bled, John,
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean’s roar: But boundless oceans, roaring wide…
LIGHT lay the earth on Billy’s… His chicken heart so tender; But build a castle on his head, His scull will prop it under.
O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline… Ye’re safer at your spinning-wheel… Such witching books are baited hoo… For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgi… Your fine Tom Jones and Grandiso…