IN simmer when the hay was mawn,

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the lea,

And roses blaw in ilka bield; Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says I'll be wed come o't what will ; Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,

O'gude advisement comes nae ill.


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Its ye hae wooers mony ane,

And lassie ye’re but young ye ken; Then wait a wee, and canie wale,

A routhie butt, a routhie ben: There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,

It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

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For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,

I dinna care a single flie;
He loes sae weel his craps and kye

He has nae luve to spare for me :
But blythe's the blink o'Robie's e'e,

And weel I wat he loes me dear : Ae blink o' him I wad na gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; But ay fu’han't is fechtin best,

A hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend, and some will spare,

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

O gear will buy me rigs o’land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve,

The gowd and siller canna buy : We may be poor Robie and I,

Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve brings peace and joy,

What mair liae queens upon a throne ?




TURN again thou fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part,
Rew on thy despairing lover !

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart !
Turn again thou fair Eliza ;

If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence

Under friendship’s kind disguise !

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ?

The offence is loving thee :
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,

Wha for thine wad 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 poet in the moment

Fancy lightens on his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture

That thy presence gies to me.


O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be

seen, O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been; But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae

green, And a' to pu’a posie to my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o'my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with

out a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth’s for constancy wi’ its unchanging blue,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

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