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That heart which is mine on a rival bestow,
Nay, banish that frown such displeasure betraying;
Do you think I suspect you? Oh, no my love no.
I believe you too kind for one moment to grieve me;
Or plant in a bosom which adores you such woe;
Yet should you dishonour my truth, and deceive me,
Should I e'er cease to love you? Oh no, my love no.
MUCKING O GEORDIE'S BYRE.
As I went over yon meadow,
And carelessly passing alang,
I listened wi' pleasure to Jenny,
While mournfufy singing this sang:
The mucking o' Geordie's byre,
And the shooling the gruip sae clean.
Has aft gart sae spend the night sleepless,
And brought the saut tears frae my cen.
It was nae my father's intention,
Not was it my mither's desire,
