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3 For then I had a score o' kye,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high,
And giving milk to me.

4 And there I had three score o' yowes,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

5 I was the happiest o' a clan,
Sair, sair may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest lad,
And Donald he was mine.

6 Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last
Sae far to set us free;

My Donald's arm was wanted then,
For Scotland and for me.

7 Their waefu' fate what need I tell,
Right to the wrang did yield:
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden's field.

8 Oh, I am come to the low countrie,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the world wide
Sae wretched now as me.

OH, LEEZE ME ON MY WEE THING.

1 Он, leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie blithesome wee thing;
Sae lang's I ha'e my wee thing,
I'll think my lot divine.

2 Though warld's care we share o't,
And may see meikle mair o't:
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,
And ne'er a word repine.

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.

TUNE-' Oh, mount and go.'

1 WHEN the drums do beat,
And the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state,
And see thy love in battle.

CHORUS.

Oh, mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;

Oh, mount and go,

And be the captain's lady.

2 When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,

To the shades we'll go,

And in love enjoy it.

WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS.

1 WHEN I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie;

And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie ?

2 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary!

It wasna sae ye glinted by
When I was wi' my dearie.

EPISTLE TO JOHN TAYLOR.

1 WITH Pegasus upon a day,

Apollo weary flying,

Through frosty hills the journey lay,
On foot the way was plying.

2 Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus
Was but a sorry walker;
To Vulcan then Apollo goes,
To get a frosty calker.

3 Obliging Vulcan fell to work,

Threw by his coat and bonnet,
And did Sol's business in a crack;
Sol paid him with a sonnet.

4 Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead,
Pity my sad disaster;

My Pegasus is poorly shod-
I'll pay you like my master.

ROBERT BURNS.

SHELAH O'NEIL.

1 WHEN first I began for to sigh and to woo her,
Of many fine things I did say a great deal,
But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best,
Was, 'Oh, will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil?'
My point I soon carried, for straight we were married,
Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel—
For she scolded, she fisted, oh then I enlisted,

Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shelah O'Neil !

2 Then tired and dull-hearted, oh then I deserted,
And fled unto regions far distant from home,
To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me,
Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb.

I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle,

Felt sharp shot, alas! and the sharp pointed steel; But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found Aught so sharp as the tongue of curs'd Shelah O'Neil.

INDEXES.

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