Favorite new song, called Saucy Tibby, wi' her fifty mark/Sandy in his Tartan Plaid
SANDY IN HIS TARTAN PLAID.
How gaily roll’d the moments on,
when Sandy woo'd me ilka day!
But a’ that fleeting joy is gone,
since war hath press’d him far away.
Vain the shepherds pipe and (illegible text),
the blooming maidens dance in vain,
Till peaceful times shall Sandy bring
to mingle in the happy train.
Tho’ blithsome are the rural swains,
who grace the flow’ry banks of Tay,
Yet none of them, with a’ their pains,
seem half so bonny, blithe and gay;
When dress’d in plaid of Tartan braw,
with garters dic’d beneath his knee,
So smart a lad you never saw,
and O how neat he look’d to me!
Whene’er he drove his sheep and kye,
to sell them at the Tryste or Fair,
Kind Sandy never fail’d to buy
A roll of ribbons for my hair:
But now his flocks, of late sae glad,
his lambs that wont to skip and play,
Methinks are unco dull and sad,
since war hath press’d him far away.
Ye fair, decreed in state to shine,
your wealth and pomp I envy not;
Be Lairds your choice-but Sandy’s mine,
with him to share a lonely cot.
Oft, (illegible text) near yon verdant birk,
I lang to see the happy day,
When he shall lead me to the kirk,
and ne’er again gang far away.