4
Cheer up your heart, my bonny lass,
There’s gear to win we never saw.
A’ day when we hae wrought enough
When winter frosts and snaws begin,
Soon as the sun gaes west the loch,
At night when ye sit dovn to spin.
I’ll screw my pipes, and play a spring;
And thus the weary night we’ll end,
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
Our pleasant simmer back again.
Syne when the trees are in their bloom,
And gowans glent o’er ilka field.
I’ll meet my lass amang the broom,
And lead her to my simmer bield.
There, far frae a’ their scornfu’ din.
That mak the kindly heart their sport,
We’ll laugh, and kiss, and dance, and sing,
And gar the iangest day seem short.
Down in yonder glen.
There lives old Bessie Blench,
And she had a daughter,
A comely young wench,
Scarce seventeen winters old,
And she was sore afraid,
