Poems & songs . m a;Hell be a credit till us a,Well a be proud o Robin. But, sure as three times three mak nine,I see, by ilka score and line,This chap will dearly like our kin,So leeze me on thee, Robin. Guid faith, quo she, I doubt ye garThe bonnie lasses lie aspar,But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,So blessins on thee, Robin !Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin rovin, rantin rovin ;Robin was a rovin boy,Rantin rovin Robin ! MY JEAN. Tune—The Northern Lass. Tho cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line,Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly mountains rise, and deserts
Poems & songs . m a;Hell be a credit till us a,Well a be proud o Robin. But, sure as three times three mak nine,I see, by ilka score and line,This chap will dearly like our kin,So leeze me on thee, Robin. Guid faith, quo she, I doubt ye garThe bonnie lasses lie aspar,But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,So blessins on thee, Robin !Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin rovin, rantin rovin ;Robin was a rovin boy,Rantin rovin Robin ! MY JEAN. Tune—The Northern Lass. Tho cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line,Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly mountains rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between ;Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. THE DEILS AW A WI TH EXCISEMAN, Tune—The Dei/ cam fiddling through the Town. The deil cam fiddling thro the town,And dancd awa wi th Exciseman, .And ilka wife cries— Auld Mahoun,I wish you luck o the prize, man ! THE DEWS A WA WP TH> EXCISEMAN. 139 The deils awa, the deils awa, The deils awa wi th Exciseman :. Hes dancd awa, hes dancd awa,Hes dancd awa wi th Exciseman ! SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. Well mak our maut, well brew our drink,Well dance, and sing, and rejoice, man; And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil,That dancd awa wi th Exciseman. Theres threesome reels, theres foursome reels,Theres hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; But the ae best dance eer cam to the landWas—the deils awa wi th Exciseman. The deils awa, the deils awa, The deils awa wi th Exciseman : Hes dancd awa, hes dancd awa,Hes dancd awa wi th Exciseman. THE BRAES O BALLOCHMYLE. Tune—Braes o Ballochmyle. The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decayd on Catrine lea,Nae lavrock sang on hillock green, But nature sickend on the faded groves Maria sang, Hersel in beautys bloom the while,And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the Braes o Ballochmyle ! Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,Again yell flourish fresh and fair;Ye birdies dumb, in withring bowers, Again yell charm the vocal
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Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
