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Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
Ye unco sair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between us twae,
Ye are sic bonnie lasses;
Waes me, for baith I canna get,
To ane by law we're stented;
Then I'll draw cuts, and tak my fate,
And be with ane contented.





SCOTIA’S SONS.

Tune—Andro and his cutty gun.

Blythe, blythe, aroun’ the nappy,
Let us join in social glee;
While we re here we'll hae a drappy,
Scotia’s sons hae ay been free.

Our auld forbears, when owre their gill,
And cantie bickers roun' did ca',
Forsooth' they cried, 'anither gill,
For sweer't we are to gang awa.’
Blythe, blythe, &c.

Some heartie cock would then hae sang
Some auld Scotch sonnet aff wi' glee,