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7
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel were dead and gone,
For a maid again I'll never be.
THE WAUKING O' THE FAULD.
My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld.
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wauking o' the fauld.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld;
But she gars a' my spirits glow,
At wauking of the fauld.
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
