7
I’ll take ye to my father’s ha’,
In yon green field beside the shaw,
And make you lady o’ them a’,
The brawest wife in Gowrie.'
Saft kisses on her lips I laid,
The blush upon her cheek soon spread;
She whisper’d modestly, and said,
“I’ll gang wi’ you to Gowrie.”
The auld folk soon gied their consent,
And to Mess John we quickly went,
Wha tied us to our heart’s content,
And now she’s Lady Gowrie,
SWEEST JENNY, THE MAID OF THE
MOOR.
The lasses of Scotland are bonnie and free;
The maidens of Erin are fair;
The sweet girls of Britain are lovely to see—
And let them deny it who dare;
But the fairest of lasses that all those surpasses,
Is Jenny, the maid of the moor.
Sweet Jenny, dear Jenny,
Sweet Jenny, the maid of the moor.
The lasses of Scotland are tender and true;
The maidens of Erin are kind;
The sweet girls of Britain can monarchs subdue,
And lovely in person and mind:
