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5
The bird that charm'd his summer day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting, woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
I tell you now. &c.
THE
MUCKING O' GEORDIE'S BYRE.
As I went over yon meadow,
And carelessly passing alang,
I listen’d with pleasure to Jenny,
While mournfully singing this sang:
The mucking o' Geordie's byre,
And the shooling the gruip sae clean,
Has aft gart me spend the night sleepless
And brought the saut tears frae my een.
It was na my father's intention,
Nor was it my mither's desire,
That e'er I should fyle my fingers
Wi' the mucking o' Geordie's byre.
The mucking, &c.
Though the roads were ever sae filthy,
Or the day sae scoury and foul,
I wad ay be ganging wi' Geordie,
