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But ah! at last she prov'd wi' bairn,
An' sat baith sad and dull,
An' I wha was as much concerned
Looked e'en just like a fool;
Her lovely eyes wi' tears ran o'er,
Repentin' her rash sin;
An' ay she cursed the fatal hour
That e'er she loot me in.
But who could from such beauty go,
Or yet from Nelly part;
I lov'd her dear, an' cou'dna leave
The charmer of my heart,
We wedded and conceal'd our crime,
Then all was weel again,
An' she doth bless the happy night
She rose an' loot me in
GIE THE LASS HER FAIRING.
Tune—"Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."
An old fragment.
O gie the lass her fairing, lad,
O gie the lass her fairing;
And something else she'll gie to you,
That's wallow worth the wearing.
Syne coup her o'er amang the creels,
When ye hae ta'en your brandy,
The mair you bang, the less she squeals,
So hey for houghmagandie.
Then gie the lass her fairing, lad,
O gie the lass her fairing,
And she'll gie you a hairy thing,
And of it be not sparing,
Lay her o'er amang the creels,
And bar the door wi' baith your heels,
The mair she gets, the less she squeals,
So hey for houghmagandie.
