Quoth she. If you will aye be mine, ^
Nae mair the snood shall make me dreary:
I vow'd, I seal'd, and bless the time,
That in the broom I met my dearie.
Rest awhile with me.
[From a small tract entitled, "Love: by J. C. Denovan:" Printed for the author at Edinburgh in 1826. Denovan was the son of a printer in Edinburgh, where he was born in 1798. Some years of his early life were spent at sea, but latterly he supported himself by a small business of his own, in his native city, as a coffee-roaster. He died in 1827.]
The lark hath sought his grassy home,
The bee her eglantine;
The silver lamps, in yon blue dome,
Have just begun to shine;
Then rest awhile with me, love, with me, love,
Then rest awhile with me, love,
This breast will pillow thine.
The breeze that steals so softly by
Hath caught the rose's kiss:
The tear that wets the Uly's eye
Is but a drop of bliss.
Then rest awhile with me, love, with me, love,
Then rest awhile with me, love,
Home ne'er had charms like this.
Twine weel the plaiden.
[This song cannot be traced in any of the earlier collections. It appears, however, in Johnton's Museum, vol. I. 1787. There is a plaintive old air given in Oswald's collection, (1735-42,) wife the title, "The lassie lost her silken snood."]
O, I ha'e lost my silken snood,
That tied my hair sae yellow;
I've gi'en my heart to the lad I loo'd,
He was a gallant fellow.
And twine it weel, my bonnie dow,
And twine it weel the plaiden;
The lassie lost her silken snood,
In pa'ing o' the breckan.
He praised my een sae bonnie blue,
Sae lily-white my skin, O,
And syne he prie'd my bonnie mou",
And said it was nae sin, O.
And twine it weel, &c.
But he has left the lass he loo'd,
His own true love forsaken;
Which gars me sair to greet the snood,
I lost amang the breckan.
And twine it weel, &c.
The Cooper of Fife.
There was a wee cooper who lived in Fife,
Nickity, nackity, noo, noo, noo.
And he has gotten a gentle wife.
Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall,
Alane, quo' rushety, roue, roue, roue.
She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew,
Nickety, &c.
For the spoiling o' her comely hue,
Hey Willie, &c.
She wadna card, nor she wadna spin,
Nickety, &c.
For the shaming o' her gentle kin,
Hey Willie, &c.
She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring,
Nickety, &c.
For the spoiling o' her gouden ring,
Hey Willie, &c.
The cooper's awa' to his woo pack,
Nickety, &c.
And has laid a sheep skin on his wife's back,
Hey Willie, &c.
It's I'll no thrash ye for your proud kin,
Nickety, &c.
But I will thrash my ain sheep skin,
Hey Willie, &c.
Oh! I will bake and I will brew,
Nickety, &c.
And never mair think on my comely hue,
Hey Willie, &c.
