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How does my love pass the long day,
Does Mary net tend a few sheep,
Do they never carelessly stray,
While happily she lies asleep.
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest,
Kind nature indulging my bliss,
To releave the soft pains of my breast.
I’d steal an ambrosial kiss.
'Tis she doth the Virgins excell’
No beauty with her may compare,
Love's graces aid round her doth dwell,
She’s fairest where thousands are fair.
Say, charmer, where doth thy flock stray,
O tell me at Noon where they feed;
Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter bank of the Tweed?
TAM GLEN.
MY heart is a breaking dear tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len';
To anger them a’ is a pity,
