4
At right, tho' tir’d, with love a'fir'd,
he views the laſſes’ brow,
When morning comes, inſtead of drums,
the flails clap merrily,
To raiſe the maids out o’ their beds
to ſhake the Peaſe Strae
Fair Jenny-raiſe, put on her claiſe,
ſyne tun'd her voice to ſing:
She ſung ſae ſweet with notes complete,
gar'd a' the echo's ring;
An' a' the maids laid by their flails,
then danced merrily,
And bl'ſs'd the hour that they had power
to ſhake the Peaſe Strae.
The muſing ſwain, diſturb'd in brain,
faſt to her arms he flew,
And ſtrove a while ti en wi' a ſmi'e,
ſaid Jenny redd in here:
She cries righ' aft, I think ye're daft,
to temp a laſſie ſae;
Ye'll do me wrang, pray let me gang
and ſhake the Peaſe Strae.
My heart, ſaid he, fair wounded be,
for thee, my Jenny fair;
Without a jeſt I get nae rest,
my bed it proves a ſnare:
Thy in age fine preſent me ſyne,
an' takes a reſt frae me;
An, while I dream, in your eſteem,
you reckon me your fae.
Which is a ſign ye will be mine,
