Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, Etc: A Page for Page Reprint of the Edition of 1776; with Memoir and Illustrative Notes, Volume 2

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Paterson, 1870 - Ballads, Scots
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Page 299 - Beside the river Dee ; He worked and sang from morn till night, No lark more blithe than he ; And this the burden of his song For ever used to be, — " I envy nobody ; no, not I, And nobody envies me ! "
Page 197 - When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he — Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee.
Page 300 - twas Claver'se who spoke, 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke, So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee, 'Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
Page 293 - For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, from him shall be taken even that which he hath.
Page 71 - Nor ony thing that's dainty ; And now and then a keckling hen To lay her eggs in plenty. In winter, when the wind and rain Blaws o'er the house and byre, He sits beside a clean hearthstane Before a rousing fire ; With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, Which rows him o'er fu...
Page 297 - I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet ! If Colin' s weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave : And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave : And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet.
Page 197 - My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break...
Page 196 - I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? Or...
Page 287 - I mysel' a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! Oh, there beyond expression blest. I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus
Page 296 - There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the baillie's wife That Colin's in the town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockins pearly blue; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he's baith leal and true.

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