Aye vow and protest that ye carena for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But courtna anither, tho' jokin ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
O whistle, &c.
BANNOCKBURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.
Tune-' Hey tuttie tattie.'
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Now's the day, and now 's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him on wi' me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low i
Tyrants fall in every foe i
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do, or die!
Tune-'Wishaw's Favourite.'
My luve is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June:
My luve is like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair thou art, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve !
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho it were ten thousand mile.
Tune-- There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes Hame.'
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
But to me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn:
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nanie-and Nanie's awa.
Thou lav'rock' that springs frae the dews o' the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa',
Give over for pity-my Nanie's awa.
Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay;
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me-now Nanie's awa.
A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that:
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is King o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
· coarse woollen cloth. 3 conceited fellow.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he mauna fa'1 that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities and a' that,
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that;
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree2, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that;
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow joined
Sic notes o' wae could wauken.
Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair :
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!
Tune-'This is no my ain House.'
This is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho the lassie be;
Weel ker. I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.
I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi'1 the fairest place:
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
This is no, &c.
She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my very saul,
The kind love that's in her e'e
This is no, &c.
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