4
My friend so rare, my girl so fair,
With such what mortal can be richer;
Give me but these, a fig for care,
With my sweet girl, my friend & pitcher.
From morning sun I'd never grieve
To toil. a hedger or a ditcher,
If that, when I came home at eve,
I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.
My friend so rare, &c.
Though Fortune ever shuns my door,
(I know not what can thus bewitch her),
With all my heart can I be poor,
With any'sweet girl, my friend and pitcher.
My friend so rare, &c.
I gaed a waefu' gale yestreen.
I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom lily white;
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wild,
She charm'd my soul, I wistna how;
