This page has been validated.
( 3 )
But if he hae the name o’ gear,
Ye’ll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho’ hardly he, for sense and lear,
Be better than the ky.
O Tibbie, &c.
O Tibbie, ye’re o’er su’ o’spice,
Your Daddie’s gear makes you o’er nice,
But ne’er a ane wad speir your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wadna gi’e her in her sark,
For you and a’ your fifty mark.
That gars ye look sae shy.
O Tibbie, &c.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
JOCKEY AT THE FAIR.
One morning in the month of May,
When Nature paints the roses gay,
When birds do sing, and lambs do play
Upon ⟨the⟩ madows fair,
Young Jockey, early in the morn,
Arose and pass’d the bushy thorn,
