3
Even there her other works are foil'd
By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.
O had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotia's plain;
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain
With joy, with rapture I would toil;
And nightly to my bogom strain
The bonny lass of Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb this slippery steep,
Where fame and honour lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep
Or downward sink the Indian mine;
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks, or till the soil,
And every day have joys divine,
Wi' the bonny lass of Ballochmyle.
AULD ROB MORRIS.
There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' gude fellows and wale o' auld men;
