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My wealth is lost, my friend is false,
My love she's stole from me;
And here I lie, in misery,
Beneath the willow-tree.
My love she's stole from me;
And here I lie, in misery,
Beneath the willow-tree.
———O———
The auld Man’s Mare’s dead.
Written by Patie Pirnie, Fidler in Kinghorn.
The auld man’s mare's dead,
The poor man’s mare's dead,
Left meal, and peats, and a' to lead,
A mile aboon Dundee.
The poor man’s mare's dead,
Left meal, and peats, and a' to lead,
A mile aboon Dundee.
She was cut-lugget, paunch-lippet,
Steel-wame't, stamcher-fittet,
Chaunler-chafted, lang-necket,
Yet the brute did die.
The auld man's, &c.
Steel-wame't, stamcher-fittet,
Chaunler-chafted, lang-necket,
Yet the brute did die.
The auld man's, &c.
Her lunzie banes were nags and neuks,
She had the cleeks, the cauld, the creuks,
The spavin, and the wanton yeuks,
And the howks aboon her een.
The auld man's, &c.
She had the cleeks, the cauld, the creuks,
The spavin, and the wanton yeuks,
And the howks aboon her een.
The auld man's, &c.
Her master rade her to the town,
He tied her till a staincher roun',
He took a chappin till himsel',
But the fient a drap gat she.
The auld man's, &c.
He tied her till a staincher roun',
He took a chappin till himsel',
But the fient a drap gat she.
The auld man's, &c.
