THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY Bonnie lassie, will ye go Will ye go, will ye go, Bonnie lassie, will ye go To the Birks of Aberfeldy? Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, Come let us spend the lightsome days In the Birks of Aberfeldy. While o'er their heads the hazels hing, The little birdies blythely sing, Or lightly flit on wanton wing In the Birks of Aberfeldy. The braes ascend like lofty wa's, The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws - The Birks of Aberfeldy. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, And rising, weets wi' misty showers The Birks of Aberfeldy. Let fortune's gifts at random flee, They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, Supremely blest wi' love and thee, In the Birks of Aberfeldy.	THE RIGS O' BARLEY It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light I held awa to Annie; The time flew by wi' tentless heed, Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed To see me thro' the barley. The sky was blue, the win was still, The moon was shining clearly; I set her down wi' right good will Amang the rigs o' barley; I kent her heart was a' my ain; I loved her most sincerely; I kissed her owre and owre again Amang the rigs o' barley I locked her in my fond embrace; Her heart was beating rarely; My blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley! But by the moon and stars so bright, That shone that hour so clearly, She aye shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o' barley. I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; I hae been merry drinking; I hae been joyfu' gatherin' gear; I haebeen happy thinking: But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, Tho' three times doubled fairly, That happy night was worth them a' ; Amang the rigs o' barley. Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, An' corn rigs are bonnie: I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED RED ROSE My love is like a red red rose That's newly sprung in June: My love is like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I: And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. And the rocks melt wi' the sun; And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only love, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my love, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.	GO FETCH ME A PINT O' WINE Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith. Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I mann leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready: The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's no the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
COMING THROUGH THE RYE Coming through the rye, poor body, Coming through the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Coming through the rye. Gin a body meet a body Coming through the rye; Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? Gin a body meet a body Coming through the glen; Gin a body kiss a body, Need the world ken? Jenny's a' wat, poor body; Jenny's seldom dry; She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Coming through the rye.	AULD LANG SYNE Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidled i' the burn, From mornin g sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne.
GREEN GROW THE RASHES Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O: The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses O! There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In ev'ry hour that passes O; What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses O. The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them O; An' tho“ at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O.	A GRACE BEFORE DINNER O Thou who kindly dost provide For ev'ry creature's want! We bless the God of Nature wide For all Thy goodness lent. And if it please Thee, heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent; But, whether granted or denied, Lord, bless us with content.
A GRACE AFTER DINNER O Thou, in whom we live and move, Who made the sea and shore, Thy goodness constantly we prove, And, grateful, would adore. And, if it please Thee, Power above! Still grant us with such store, The friend we trust, the fair we love, And we desire no more.	THE SELKIRK GRACE Some have meat and cannot eat. Some cannot eat that want it: But we have meat and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit.
SWEET AFTON Flow gently, sweet Afton amang thy green braes!, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream- Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream! Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and the green vallies below, Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.	CLARINDA, MISTRESS OF MY SOUL Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measur'd time is run! The wretch beneath the dreary pole So marks his latest sun. To what dark cave of frozen night Shall poor Sylvander hie; Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, The sun of all his joy? We part-but by these precious drops, That fill thy lovely eyes, No other light shall guide my steps, Till thy bright beams arise! She, the fair sun of all her sex, Has blest my glorious day; And shall a glimmering planet fix My worship to its ray?