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4
She thought it was her own true love
That she had all the while;
But him she lost, but ne'er suspeck'd.
That I did her beguile.
UP IN THE MORNING.
Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south,
And drift is driving sairly;
The sheep are couring in the heugh,
O sirs, it's winter fairly.
Now up in the morning’s no for me,
Up in the morning’s no for me,
I'd rather gang supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Loud roars the blast amang the blast,
The branches tirling barely,
Amang the chimley taps it thuds.
And frost is nipping sairly.
Now up in the morning's no for me,,
Up in the morning early,
To sit a' night I’d rather agree,
Then rise ⟨in the morning early.⟩
