Poems & songs . e :Or were I monarch o the globe, Wi thee to reign, wi thee to reign,The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. HEY FOR A LASS WI A TOCHER. Tune—Balinamona Ora, *Awa wi your witchcraft o beautys alarms,The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms :O gie me the lass that has acres o charms,O gie me the lass wi the weel-stockit farms, Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,Then hey for a lass wi a tocher;Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,The nice yellow guineas for me. Your beautys a flower, in the morning that blows,And withers the faster, the faster it grows;But
Poems & songs . e :Or were I monarch o the globe, Wi thee to reign, wi thee to reign,The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. HEY FOR A LASS WI A TOCHER. Tune—Balinamona Ora, *Awa wi your witchcraft o beautys alarms,The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms :O gie me the lass that has acres o charms,O gie me the lass wi the weel-stockit farms, Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,Then hey for a lass wi a tocher;Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,The nice yellow guineas for me. Your beautys a flower, in the morning that blows,And withers the faster, the faster it grows;But the rapturous charm o the bonnie green knowesIlk spring theyre new deckit wi bonnie white yowes And een when this beauty your bosom has blest,The brightest o beauty may cloy, when possest;But the sweet yellow darlings wi Geordie imprest,The langer ye hae them—the mair theyre carest. Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,Then hey for a lass wi a tocher;Then hey for a lass wi a tocher,The nice yellow guineas for COUNTRY LASSIE. Tune—The Country Lass. In simmer, when the hay was mawn, And corn wavd green in ilka field,While clover blooms white oer the lea, And roses blaw in ilka bield;Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says—Ill be wed, come ot what will;Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild— O guid advisement comes nae ill. Its ye hae wooers mony ane, And, lassie, yere but young, ye ken;Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, A routhie but, a routhie ben : SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. Theres Johnnie o the Buskie-glen,Fu is his barn, fu is his byre; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,Its plenty beets the lovers fire. For Johnnie o the Buskie-glen, I dinna care a single flie;He loes sae weel his craps and kye, He has nae love to spare for me :But blithes the blink o Robies ee, 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, lifes a faught; The canniest gate, the strife is sair:But aye fu hant is fechtin best, An hungry cares an
Size: 1848px × 1352px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
