Jolly beggar/The Duke of Argyle's Courtship to an English Lady

THE DUKE OF ARGYLE'S COURTSHIP TO AN ENGLISH LADY.

Did you ever hear of a loyal Scot,
Who was never concern'd in any plot,
I wish it might fall to my lot,
To marry you my dearie, O.

I wish I had you in Kintyre,
And there your beauty I would admire,
O then I would have my heart's desire,
If you would marry me my dearie, O.

You shall have plenty of barley-bannock store,
With geese and fine ducks at the door,
And a good chaff-bed upon the floor,
If you will marry me, my dearie, O.

Yeu shall have plenty of good Scots kail,
With a good fat haggis at every meal,
After that, good Scots cakes and ale,
If you will marry me, my dearie, O.

O get you gone, you saucy Scot,
Your haggis shall never boil in my pot,
For you are a proud and prating sot,
And never shall be my dearie, O.

I will clout your hose and mend your shoon,
And if you chance to hae a son,
I'll make him laird when all is done,
If you will marry me, my dearie, O.

Your clouted hose I cannot wear,
Your mended shoes I can't endure,
And for your lordship I am not sure,
So I never shall be your dearie, O.

The deil pick out your twa black een,
I wish your face I ne'er had seen,
For you are a proud and saucy queen,
And never shall be my dearie, O.

I am a noble lord of high renown,
I am great Argyle when I came to town,
But my blue bonnet has fallen down,
And you never shall be my dearie, O.

O pardon, pardon, Argyle, allow,
For what I've done in saying so,
To the highland hills with you I'll go,
I long to be your dearie, O.

There is not a whore in London town
Shall set a foot on Campbell's ground,
For I am related to the crown,
And you never shall be my dearie, O.

I am a noble lord of great renown,
I am great Argyle when I come to town;
While drums do beat, and trumpets sound,
You never shall be my dearie, O.

I wish I had you in Lancashire,
To follow me through dub and mire,
Yet hats from bonnets might retire,
And you never shall be my dearie, O.

THE WEAVER'S DAUGHTER.

It was in the charming fine summer weather,
When Flora yields a fine fragrant scene,
A brisk young squire with his hat and feather,
Into the town of Norris went.
And there he tarried—much gold he carried;
He spied a damsel beautiful and fair,
The maid he fancied, her name was Nancy,
A weaver's daughter that lived there.

He fix'd his ogling eyes upon her,
With every motion for to enjoy;
He often crav'd her of her honour,
But modest Nancy was something coy.
He often courted, and likewise sported,
And in his arms did her enfold;
He said, my dear Nancy, if you please my fancy,
I will give you a chain of gold.

I would not blemish your reputation
For all the favours you could bestow,
I mean to live in an honest station,
No man alive shall serve me so.
Keep your laces—your kind embraces,
Such silly trifles won't my fancy move;
Till death I'll tarry—unless I marry,
No man alive shall my ruin prove.