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Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,

Yet long, long too well have I known, All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,

Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow :
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my an-

guish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.

WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO YOU,

MY LAD. Tune-Whistle and I'll come to you, my Lad. Oh whistle and I'll come to you, my lad, Oh whistle and I'll come to you, my lad ; Tho' father and mither and a' should gae

mad, Oh whistle and I'll come to you, my lad. But warily tent, when ye come to court me, And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, And come as ye were na comin' to me. And come, &c. At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, Gang by me as tho' that ye car'à nae a flie ; But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee, Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. Yet look, &c.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court nae anither, tho' jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.

WHY, WHY, TELL THY LOVER.

TUNE—The Caledonian Hunt's Delight.
Why, why tell thy lover,

Bliss he never must enjoy?
Why, why undeceive him,

And give all his hopes the lie?
Oh why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers

Chloris, Chloris all the theme,
Why, why wouldst thou cruel,

Wake thy lover from his dream ?

WILLIE WASTLE.

TUNE-The Eight Men of Moidart. WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they called it Linkum-doddie ; Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clew wi' ony bodie. He had a wife was dour and din,

Oh Tinkler Madgié was her mither; Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her.

She has an ee—she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very colour ; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller : A whiskin beard about her mou',

Her nose and chin they threaten ither Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her.
She's bough-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,

Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter ;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,

To balance fair in ilka quarter : She has a hump upon her breast,

The twin o' that upon her shouther; Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her. Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,

And wi' ber loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; Her walie nieves like midden-creels,

Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad nae gie a button for her. WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY

MARY.

TUNB-The Ewe-buchts. Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

Across the Atlantic's roar

Oh sweet grow the lime and the orange,

And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies

Can never equal thine. I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true; And sae may the Heavens forget me,

When I forget my vow !
Oh plight me your faith, my Mary,

And plight me your lily-white hand;
Oh plight me your faith, my Mary,

Before I leave Scotia's strand.
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,

In mutual affection to join ;
And curst be the cause that shall part us !

The hour and the moment o' time!

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?

AIR-The Sutor's Dochter.
Wilt thou be my dearie ?
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee?
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee !
I swear and vow that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie.
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my dearie.
Lassie, say thou loes me;
Or if thou wilt na be my ain,

Say na thou'lt refuse me:
If it winna, canna be,
Thou, for thiné may choose mé,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou loes mé.
Lassię, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou loes me.

YE JACOBITES BY NAME.

TUNE-Ye Jacobites by name. YE jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; Ye jacobites by name, give an ear ; Ye jacobites by name, Your fautes I will proclaim, Your doctrines I maun blame

You shall hear. What is right and wirat is wrang, by the law,

by the law ? What is right and what is wrang by the law? What is right and what is wrang ? A short sword and a lang, A weak arm and a strang

For to draw.
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar, fam'd

afar?
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar ?
What makes heroic strife ?
To whet the assassin's knife,
Or hunt a parent's life

Wi' bluidie war.

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