Part 18

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET"

As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid I chanced to meet; But O the road was very hard For that fair maiden's tender feet. O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet, Mally's rare, Mally's fair, Mally's every way complete.

It were more meet that those fine feet Were weel laced up in silken shoon, And 'twere more fit that she should sit Within yon chariot gilt aboon.

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, And her two eyes, like stars in skies, Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet, Mally's rare, Mally's fair, Mally's every way complete.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

THE LOVER'S CHOICE

You, Damon, covet to possess The nymph that sparkles in her dress; Would rustling silks and hoops invade, And clasp an armful of brocade.

Such raise the price of your delight Who purchase both their red and white, And, pirate-like, surprise your heart With colors of adulterate art.

Me, Damon, me the maid enchants Whose cheeks the hand of nature paints; A modest blush adorns her face, Her air an unaffected grace.

No art she knows, or seeks to know; No charm to wealthy pride will owe; No gems, no gold she needs to wear; She shines intrinsically fair.

Thomas Bedingfield [ ? -1613]

RONDEAU REDOUBLE

My day and night are in my lady's hand; I have no other sunrise than her sight; For me her favor glorifies the land; Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Her face is fairer than the hawthorn white, When all a-flower in May the hedgerows stand; While she is kind, I know of no affright; My day and night are in my lady's hand.

All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned; Her smile is softer than the summer's night, Gladder than daybreak on the Faery strand; I have no other sunrise than her sight. Her silver speech is like the singing flight Of runnels rippling o'er the jewelled sand; Her kiss a dream of delicate delight; For me her favor glorifies the land.

What if the Winter chase the Summer bland! The gold sun in her hair burns ever bright. If she be sad, straightway all joy is banned; Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Come weal or woe, I am my lady's knight And in her service every ill withstand; Love is my Lord in all the world's despite And holdeth in the hollow of his hand My day and night.

John Payne [1842-1916]

"MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET"

My love she's but a lassie yet, A lightsome lovely lassie yet; It scarce wad do To sit an' woo Down by the stream sae glassy yet.

But there's a braw time coming yet, When we may gang a-roaming yet; An' hint wi' glee O' joys to be, When fa's the modest gloaming yet.

She's neither proud nor saucy yet, She's neither plump nor gaucy yet; But just a jinking, Bonny blinking, Hilty-skilty lassie yet.

But O, her artless smile's mair sweet Than hinny or than marmalete; An' right or wrang, Ere it be lang, I'll bring her to a parley yet.

I'm jealous o' what blesses her, The very breeze that kisses her, The flowery beds On which she treads, Though wae for ane that misses her.

Then O, to meet my lassie yet, Up in yon glen sae grassy yet; For all I see Are naught to me, Save her that's but a lassie yet.

James Hogg [1770-1835]

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE

The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin', To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom, And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane.