Now he held his bridle reins till he came down,
And then he conveyed him to a fine room:
With rejoicing and feasting the time flew away,
And the father and son lived in friendship for aye.
THE CROOK AND PLAID.
If lassies love the laddies, they surely should confest,
For every lassie has a lad she loes aboon the rest,
He’s dearer to his bosom whatever be his trade,
And through life I’ll loe the laddie that wears the
Crook and Plaid.
He’s aye true to his lover, aye true to me.
He climbs the mountain early, his fleecy flocks to view,
He spies the little laverocks spring out frae’ mang the dew;
His faithful little doggie, so frolicsome and glad,
Wanders forward with the laddie that wears the
Crook and Plaid.
For he’s, &c.
He pu’s the blooming heather, he pu’s the lily meek,
Calls the lily like my bosom, the heather like my check;
His words are aye so tender, my heard is aye so glad,
There’s nae wooer like the laddie that wears the
Crook and Plaid.
For he’s, &c,
