Poems

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Mr. Thomas Ruddiman, 1721 - 400 pages
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Page 266 - At Polwart on the Green If you'll meet me the morn, Where lasses do convene To dance about the thorn, A kindly welcome you shall meet Frae her wha likes to view A lover and a lad complete, The lad and lover you.
Page 271 - THE AIR. Now the sun's gane out o' sight, Beet the ingle, and snuff the light ; In glens the fairies skip and dance, And witches wallop o'er to France ; Up in the air, On my bonny grey mare, ,And I see hei; yet, and I see her yet, Up in, &c. The wind's drifting hail and sna' O'er frozen hags like a footba' ; Nae starns keek thro' the azure slit, 'Tis cauld and mirk as ony pit ; The man i' the moon Is carousing aboon, D' ye see, d' ye see, d' ye see him yet ? The man, &c.
Page 63 - THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL.(i) THE lass of Patie's mill, So bonny, blyth, and gay, In spite of all my skill, She stole my heart away. When tedding of the hay, Bare-headed on the green, Love 'midst her locks did play, And wanton'd in her een. Her arms white, round, and smooth, Breasts rising in their dawn, To age it would give youth To press 'em with his hand : Thro' all my spirits ran An extasy of bliss, When I such sweetness fand Wrapt in a balmy kiss.
Page 64 - Without the help of art, Like flowers which grace the wild, She did her sweets impart, Whene'er she spoke or smil'd.
Page 72 - Whilst thro' the groves I walk with you, Each object makes me gay. Since your return, the sun and moon With brighter beams do shine, Streams murmur soft notes while they run, As they did lang syne.
Page 62 - Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, Their waves the Alps shall cover, On Greenland ice shall roses grow, Before I cease to love her. The...
Page 372 - Let me die, Sweet Sir, gin I can tell — O. Love gave the command, I took her by the hand, And bade her a...
Page 38 - And puts nae out. My Malison light ilka Day On them that drink, and dinna pay, But tak a Snack and rin away ; May't be their Hap Never to want a Gonorrhea, Or rotten Clap.
Page 80 - And thought I ne'er could alter ; But Mary Gray's twa pawky een, They gar my fancy falter. Now Bessy's hair's like a lint-tap ; She smiles like a May morning, When Phoebus starts frae Thetis...
Page 267 - If she's not my bride, my days are nae langer ; Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture, May be, ere we part, my vows may content her.

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