'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry:
But my lore's heart's grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel' in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kiss'd,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
Aud I myself were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!
Glancing of her Apron.
[This song was originally written by Thomas D'Urfey, and published as a Scottish song in his comedy called "The Fond Husband," London, 1676. Ramsay reprinted it with alterations in his Tea-Table Miscellany. The tune is the original of what is now better known under the name of "Jock of Hazeldean."]
In January last,
On Munanday at morn,
As through the fields I past,
To view the winter corn,
I looked me behind,
And saw come o'er the knowe,
And glancing in her apron,
With a bonnie brent brow.
I said, Good-morrow, fair maid,
And she right courteously
Return'd a beck, and kindly said,
Good-day, sweet Sir, to you.
I speir'd, My dear, how far awa'
Do ye intend to gae?
Quoth she, I mean a mile or twa
Out o'er yon broomy brae.
He.
Fair maid, I'm thankfu' to my fate,
To have sic company;
For I'm ganging straight that gate,
Where ye intend to be.
When we had gane a mile or twain,
I said to her, My dow,
May we not lean us on this plain,
And kiss your bonnie mou'.
She.
Kind sir, ye are a wee mistane;
For I am nane of these,
I hope you some mair breeding ken,
Than to ruffle women's claise:
For may be I have chosen ane,
And plighted him my vow,
Wha may do wi' me what ho likes,
And kiss my bonnie mou'.
He.
Na, if ye are contracted,
I ha'e nae mair to say:
Rather than be rejected,
I will gi'e o'er the play;
And chuse anithcr will respect
My love, and on me rew;
And let me clasp her round the neck,
And kiss her bonnie mou'.
She.
O sir, ye are proud hearted,
And laith to be said nay,
Else ye wad ne'er 'a started
For ought that I did say,
For women in their modesty,
At first they winna bow;
But if we like your company,
We'll prove as kind as you.
Birks of Abergeldy.
[This is the name of an old song and tune. The latter is to be found in Playford's Dancing Master, printed so far back as 1657. Abergeldy is an estate in Aberdeenshire.]
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Abergeldy
Ye sall get a gown of silk,
A gown of silk, a gown of silk,
Ye sail get a gown of silk,
And coat of callimankie.
