But wheesht! I hear my Johnny's foot;
That's just his very clog;
He snecks the fa'-yett saftly too—
O hang that colly dog!
And now for a' thae sugar'd words,
And kisses not a few;
O, but this world's a Paradise,
When lovers they prove true.
She rose and let me in.
[The old song of "She rose and let me in" was written by Francis Semple, Esq. of Beltrees, in Renfrewshire, but is too indelicate for admission. Semple lived about the middle of the seventeenth century. A manuscript volume of his poems is known to have been in the possession of a lady in Paisley within the last thirty years, but unfortunately all trace of it is now lost. Ritson says, "This song (the present) is an English song of great merit, and has been Scotified by the Scots themselves." But the reverse happens to be the case, for it is a Scotch song, and has been Anglified by the Scots themselves. The original Scotch words are to be found, with the music, in Playford's "Choice Ayres and Songs," 1683, also (without the music) in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, Herd's Collection, &c. What may be called the Anglified version (which we here give) first appeared in Johnson's Museum. Burns was mistaken in thinking that Ramsay was the author of this version—for Ramsay gives the original words with all their warmth and high colouring.]
The night her sable mantle wore,
And gloomy were the skies;
Of glitt'ring stars appear'd no more,
Than those in Nelly's eyes.
When to her father's door I came,
Where I had often been,
I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame,
To rise and let me in.
But she with accents all divine,
Did my fond suit reprove;
And while she chid my rash design,
She but inflamed my love.
Her beauty oft had pleased before,
While her bright eyes did roll;
But virtue had the very power
To charm my very soul.
Then who would cruelly deceive,
Or from such beauty part?
I loved her so, I could not leave
The charmer of my heart.
My eager fondness I obey'd,
Resolved she should be mine,
Till Hymen to my arms convey'd
My treasure so divine.
Now, happy in my Nelly's love,
Transporting is my joy;
No greater blessing can I prove,
So blest a man am I:
For beauty may a while retain
The conquer'd flutt'ring heart;
But virtue only is the chain
Holds, never to depart.
Thou art gane awa’.
[Printed anonymously in Urbani's collection and Johnson's Museum.—Tune, "Haud awa' frae me, Donald."]
Thou art gane awa', thou art gane awa',
Thou art gane awa' frae me, Mary!
Nor friends nor I could make thee stay—
Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary!
Until this hour I never thought
That ought could alter thee, Mary;
Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart,
Think what you will of me, Mary.
Whate'er he said or might pretend,
That stole the heart of thine, Mary,
True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end,
Or nae sic love as mine, Mary.
I spoke sincere, nor flattered much,
Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary;
Ambition, wealth, nor naething such;
No, I loved only thee, Mary.
Though you've been false, yet while I live,
I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, Mary;
Let friends forget, as I forgive,
Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary;
So then, farewell! of this be sure,
Since you've been false to me, Mary;
For all the world I'd not endure
Half what I've done for thee, Mary.
