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For, 'ere the lark to-morrow shall awaken,
I will seek my absent love ;

The hostile country over
I'll fly to seek


lover, Scorning ev'ry threat'ning fear;

No diftant shore,

Nor cannon's roar,
Shall longer keep me from my dear.





Sung by Miss Catley.


His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow, Johnny lilting tun'd his reed,

And Mary wip'd her bonny mou'. Dear she lo’ed the well known song,

While her Johnny, blithe and bonny,
Sung her praise the whole day long.
Down the burn and thro' the mead,

His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow,
Johnny lilting tun'd his reed,

And Mary wip'd her bonny mou'..
Coftly claiths she had but few;

Of rings and jewels nae great store, Her face was fair, her love was true,

And Johnny wisely wilh'd nae mair: Love's the pearl the shepherds prize,

O’er the mountain, near the fountain, Love delights the shepherds eyes.

Down the burn, &c.

Gold and titles give not health,
And Johnny cou'd nae these impart ;

Youthfu' Mary's greateft wealth

Was still her faithfu' Johnny's heart; Sweet the joys the lovers find,

Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure, Where the heart is always kind;.

Down the burn, &c.

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HE fun just glancing thro' the trees

Gave light and joy to ilka grove, And pleasure in each southern breeze

Awaken'd hope and slumbring love; When Jeany sung with hearty glec,

To charm her winsome marrow, My bonny laddie gang wi' me,

We'll o'er the braes of Yarrow.

Young Sandy was the blytheft fwaik

That ever pip'd on broomy brae ; No lass cou'd ken him free frae pain, So graceful, kind, fo fair and gay.

And Jeany sung, &c.

He kiss'd and lov'd the bonny maid,

Her sparkling e'en had won his heart,
No lafs the youth had e'er betray'd,
No fears had she, the lad- no art.
And still she sung, &c.




A FAVOURITE SONG. Sung at Ranelagh.

MYI co pompa and pride and noile,

Y Colin leaves fair London town,


With eager

hafte he hies him down To taste of rural joys. Soon as my blithesome swain's in fight,

My heart is mad with glee,
I never know such true delight

As when he comes to me.

How sweet with him all day to rove,

the meadows wide ;

less sweet the moon light grove, All by the river's fide : The gaudy seasons pass away,

How swift when Colin's by!
How quickly glides the flow'ry May!

How fast the summers fly!

When Colin comes to grace the plains

An humble crook he bears,
He tends the flock like other swains,

A shepherd quite appears.
All in the verdant month of May,

A rustic rake his pride,
He helps to make the new-mown hay

With Maggy by his fide.

'Gainst yellow autumn's milder reign His sickle he

prepares, He reaps

the harvest on the plain, All pleas’d with rural cares : With jocund dance the night is crown'd,

When all the toil is o'er,
With him I trip it on the ground,

With bonny Twains a score.

When winter's gloomy months prevail,

If Colin is but here,
His jovial laugh and merry tale

For me are muckle cheer.
The folks who chuse in towns to dwell

Are from my envy free,

For Maggy loves the plains too well,

And Colin's all to me.

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The Devil and Fauftus fhall plague us no more, Thus freed from his magic, our paftimes renew, And ever, as now, give the Devil his due.

Our labours shall prosper and add to our stores, Since Faustus is gone to pay off his old scores ; Who deals with the Devil such dealings must ruc, And (Doctor or Duke) give the Devil his due.

Now Ralph and his dame ev'ry vow shall fulfil, His mill shall go round, and her clack shall lie still,

Each lass to her lad shall be loving and true,
Remembering film-give the Devil his due.

The heart once corrupted can know no delight,
For goodness and chearfulness ever unite ;
Whilft mischief, once rooted, will mischief pursue,
And must in the end-give the Devil his due.

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Lass gin ye


tell me now,

Ha'e laid a herring in fa't,

I ha'e brew'd a forpet oma't,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo. I ha'e a ca'f will soon be a cow,

Lass gin ye lo'e me, tell me now, I ha'e a pig will soon be a fow,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

I've a house on yonder muir,

Lass gin ye lo'e me, tell me now,
Three sparrows may


the floor,
And I canna come ilka day to woo.
I ha'e a butt, and I ha'e a ben,

Lass gin ye lo'e me, tell me now, I ha'e three chickens and a fat hen,

An' I canna come ony mair to woo.

Lass gin ye

lo'e me,

I've a hen wi' a happity leg,

tak' me now, Which ilka day lays me an egg,

And I canna come ilka day to woo. I ha’e a kebbuck upon my shelf,

Lass gin ye lo'e me, tak’ me now, I downa eat it a' myself,

And I winna come ony mair to woo.

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