( 7 )
Grant that victorious he may be,
o’er his insulting enemy,
⟨L⟩et all true scotsmen join with me,
and pray for Britains glory.
WAT YE WHA I MET YESTREEN.
NOW wat ye wha I met yestreen,
Coming down the street, my jo?
My mistress in her tartan screen,
⟨No⟩w bonny, braw, and sweet my jo,
⟨M⟩y dear, quoth I, thanks to the night,
⟨T⟩at never with'd a lover ill,
⟨Si⟩nce you’re out of your mither’s fight,
⟨Le⟩t’s take a walk up to the hill.
O katy wiltu’ gang wi’ me,
⟨An⟩d leave the dinsome town awhile ?
⟨Th⟩e blossoms sprouting frae the tree,
⟨An⟩d a’ the summer’s gawn to smile
⟨Th⟩e mavis, nightingale, and lark,
⟨Th⟩e beating lambs, and whistling hind,
⟨In⟩ ilka dale, green, shaw, and park,
⟨Wi⟩ll nourish health, and glad your mind.
⟨S⟩oon as the clear goodman of day,
⟨Ben⟩ds up his morning draught of dew,
⟨We⟩’ll gae to some burn-side and play,
⟨An⟩d gather flowers to bulk ye’re blow;
⟨We⟩’ll pu’ the daisies on the green,
