Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/373
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
ROW WEEL, MY BOATIE.
355
There's Lowrie, the lawyer, would ha'e me fu' fain,
Who has baith a house and a yard o' his ain:
But before I'd gang to it I rather wad die,
A wee stumpin' body! he'll never get me.
Who has baith a house and a yard o' his ain:
But before I'd gang to it I rather wad die,
A wee stumpin' body! he'll never get me.
There's Dickey, my cousin, frae Lunnun cam' down,
Wi' fine yellow buskins that dazzled the town;
But, puir deevil, he got ne'er a blink o' my e'e,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
Wi' fine yellow buskins that dazzled the town;
But, puir deevil, he got ne'er a blink o' my e'e,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
But I saw a lad by yon saughie burn-side,
Wha weel wad deserve ony queen for his bride,
Gin I had my will sune his ain I would be,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
Wha weel wad deserve ony queen for his bride,
Gin I had my will sune his ain I would be,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
I gied him a look, as a kind lassie should,
My frien's, if they kenned it, would surely run mad;
For tho' bonnie and guid, he's no worth a bawbee,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
My frien's, if they kenned it, would surely run mad;
For tho' bonnie and guid, he's no worth a bawbee,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
'Tis hard to tak' shelter behint a laigh dyke,
'Tis hard to tak' ane that we never wad like,
'Tis hard tae to leave ane we fain wad be wi',
Yet it's harder that a' should be married but me.
1802.
'Tis hard to tak' ane that we never wad like,
'Tis hard tae to leave ane we fain wad be wi',
Yet it's harder that a' should be married but me.
1802.
Row Weel, My Boatie.
Row weel, my boatie, row weel,
Row weel, my merry men a',
For there's dool and there's wae in Glenfiorich's bowers,
And there's grief in my father's ha'.
Row weel, my merry men a',
For there's dool and there's wae in Glenfiorich's bowers,
And there's grief in my father's ha'.
And the skiff it danced light on the merry wee waves,
And it flew ower the water sae blue,
And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright,
But the boatie ne'er reached Allandhu.
And it flew ower the water sae blue,
And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright,
But the boatie ne'er reached Allandhu.
Ohon! for fair Ellen, ohon!
Ohon! for the pride of Strathcoe—
In the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree,
Lord Reoch, thy Ellen lies low.
1816.
Ohon! for the pride of Strathcoe—
In the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree,
Lord Reoch, thy Ellen lies low.
1816.
a a 2