Does the death of a lintwhite give Annie the spleen?
Can tyning of trifles be uneasy to thee?
Can lap-dogs and monkeys draw tears frae these een,
That look with indifference on poor dying me?
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And dinna prefer a paroquet to me;
Oh! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie,
And think on thy Jamie wha doats upon thee.
Ah! should a pew manteau or Flanders lace head,
Or yet a wee coatie, though never so fine,
Gar thee grow forgetfu', and let his heart bleed,
That ance had some hope of purchasing thine?
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And dinna prefer your flageeries to me;
Oh! as thou art bonnie, be solid and cannie,
And tent a true lover that doats upon thee.
Shall a Paris edition of newfangled Sawney,
Though gilt o'er wi' laces and fringes he be,
By adoring himself, be adored by fair Annie,
And aim at those benisons promised to me?
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And never prefer a light dancer to me,
Oh! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie;
Love only thy Jamie wha doats upon thee.
Oh! think, my dear charmer, on ilka sweet hour,
That slade away saftly between thee and me,
Ere squirrels, or beaux, or foppery, had power
To rival my love and impose upon thee.
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And let thy desires a' be centred in me;
Oh! as thou art bonnie, be faithfu' and cannie,
And love ane wha lang has been loving to thee.
Old Scotland.
[George Allan. Set to Music by Peter Macleod in his "Original Melodies of Scotland."]
The breeze blows fresh, my gallant mates,
Our vessel cleaves her way,
Down ocean's depths, o'er heaven's heights,
Through darkness and through spray.
No loving moon shines out for us,
No star our course to tell—
And must we leave old Scotland thus?
My native land, farewell!
Then fast spread out the flowing sheet
Give welcome to the wind!
Is there a gale we'd shrink to meet,
When treachery's behind?
The foaming deep our couch will be,
The storm our vesper bell,
The low'ring heaven our canopy,
My native land, farewell!
Away, away across the main,
We'll seek some happier clime,
Where daring is not deem'd a stain,
Nor loyalty a crime.
Our hearts are wrung, our minds are toss'd,
Wild as the ocean's swell;
A kingdom and a birthright lost!
Old Scotland, fare thee well!
Jockey fou, Jenny fain.
[This song, which advocates the supremacy of love over all worldly considerations, appears, with the exception of the fourth verse, in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, with the signature Q, sisnifying that it is old, with additions. The fourth verse is by Burns. The air, which goes by the same name as the title of the song, is very old.]
Jockey fou, Jenny fain;
Jenny was na ill to gain:
She was couthie, he was kind;
And thus the wooer tell'd his mind:
Jenny, I'll nae mair be nice;
Gi'e me love at ony price:
I winna prig for red or white,
Love alane can gi'e delyte.
Others seek they kenna what,
In looks, in carriage, and a' that;
Gi'e me love for her I court:
Love in love makes a' the sport.
Let love sparkle in her e'e,
Let her love nae man but me:
That's the tocher-gude I prize;
There the lover's treasure lies.
Colours mingled unco fine,
Common notions lang sinsyne,
Never can engage my love,
Until my fancy first approve.
