Part 98

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? She’s down in the yard, she’s kissin the laird, She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.

O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; Whate’er thou hast dune, be it late, be it sune, Thou’s welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? She let’s thee to wit that she has thee forgot, And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.

O had I ne’er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab! O had I ne’er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab! As light as the air, and as fause as thou’s fair, Thou’s broken the heart o’ thy ain Jock Rab.

Altho’ He Has Left Me

Altho’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller, I dinna envy him the gains he can win; I rather wad bear a’ the lade o’ my sorrow, Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.

My Tocher’s The Jewel

O Meikle thinks my luve o’ my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o’ my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie My tocher’s the jewel has charms for him. It’s a’ for the apple he’ll nourish the tree, It’s a’ for the hinny he’ll cherish the bee, My laddie’s sae meikle in luve wi’ the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me.

Your proffer o’ luve’s an airle-penny, My tocher’s the bargain ye wad buy; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’, Sae ye wi anither your fortune may try. Ye’re like to the timmer o’ yon rotten wood, Ye’re like to the bark o’ yon rotten tree, Ye’ll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye’ll crack your credit wi’ mae nor me.

O For Ane An’ Twenty, Tam

Chorus.—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! And hey, sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! I’ll learn my kin a rattlin’ sang, An’ I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam.

They snool me sair, and haud me down, An’ gar me look like bluntie, Tam; But three short years will soon wheel roun’, An’ then comes ane an’ twenty, Tam. An’ O for, &c.

A glieb o’ lan’, a claut o’ gear, Was left me by my auntie, Tam; At kith or kin I need na spier, An I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. An’ O for, &c.

They’ll hae me wed a wealthy coof, Tho’ I mysel’ hae plenty, Tam; But, hear’st thou laddie! there’s my loof, I’m thine at ane an’ twenty, Tam! An’ O for, &c.

Thou Fair Eliza

Turn again, thou fair Eliza! Ae kind blink before we part; Rue on thy despairing lover, Can’st thou break his faithfu’ heart? Turn again, thou fair Eliza! If to love thy heart denies, Oh, in pity hide the sentence Under friendship’s kind disguise!

Thee, sweet maid, hae I offended? My offence is loving thee; Can’st thou wreck his peace for ever, Wha for thine would 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 Minstrel in the moment Fancy lightens in his e’e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me.

My Bonie Bell

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o’er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev’ning gilds the ocean’s swell; All creatures joy in the sun’s returning, And I rejoice in my bonie Bell.

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, The yellow Autumn presses near; Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear: Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell; But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonie Bell.

Sweet Afton

Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang 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.

Thou stockdove 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.

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.

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

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.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.