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Young Sally sings as sky-Isrk clear,
with milk-pail on her bead.
Her slee-black eyes their lustre take,
from virtue only bred;
Her bosom ne'er felt conscious as he,
since milk-pail grac'd her head.
For comely dames I ne'er shall fret,
but ah! wonld Sally wed,
I'd bless the spot where first we met,
with milk-pail on her head.
THRO' THE WOOD LADDIE.
O Sandy, why leaves thou thy Nelly to moura?
Thy presence cou'd ease me,
When naething can please me:
Now dowie I sigh on the bank of the barn,
Or thro' the wood, laddie, until thou return
The woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear,
While lav'rocks ere singing,
And primroses springing;
Yet nane of them pleases my eye or my ear,
When thro' the wood; laddie, ye dinna appear.
