THE SPINNING-WHEEL O LEEZE me on my spinning-wheel, On ilka hand the burnies trot, In lofty aiks the cushats wail, Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, O wha wad leave this humble state, THE COUNTRY LASSIE. In simmer, when the hay was mawn, Its ye hae wooers monie ane, And lassie, ye're but young, ye ken; Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, A routhie butt, a routhie ben; There's Johnnie, o' the Buskie glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; Tak this frae me, my bonie hen, It's plenty beets the luver's fire. For Johnnie, o' the Buskie-glen, But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. O thoughtless lassie! life's a faught; A hungry care's an unco care: Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye; But the tender heart o' leesome love The gowd and siller canna buy: We may be poor Robie and I, Light is the burden love lays on: Content and luve brings peace and joy — What mair hae queens upon a throne? TAM GLEN. My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, To anger them a' is a pity, But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, "Guid day to you, brute," he comes ben He brags an' he blaw o' his siller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen? My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me; But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, Yestreen, at the Valentine's dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written Tam Glen. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; His likeness cam up the house staukin, In the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; SOMEBODY. My heart is sair, I dare na tell, O-hey! for somebody! I could range the world around, Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, And send me safe my somebody. Oh-hey! for somebody! I wad do what wad I not? For the sake o' somebody! O WHISTLE, &c. CHORUS. O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad; O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; |