Song, p.212.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

To the Tune of, Last time I came o’er the moor


YE blytheft lads, and lasses gay, 

Hear what my sang discloses. 

As I ae morning sleeping lay, 

Upon a bank of roses, 

Young Jamie whisking o’er the mead, 

By good luck chanc’d to spy me; 

He took his bonnet aff his head, 

And saftly set down by me. 


Jamie tho’ I right meikle priz‘d, 

Yet now I wadna ken him; 

But with a frown my face disguis’d 

And strave away to send him: 

But fondly he still nearer prest, 

And by my side down lying, 

His beating heart thumped sae saft, 

I thought the lad was dying. 


But still resolving to deny, 

And angry passion feigning, 

I aften roughly shot him by, 

With words full of disdaining. 

Poor Jamie bawk’d, nae favour wins, 

Went aff much discontented; 

But I in truth for a’ my sins, 

Ne’er haf sae fair repented. 

Authors Unknown

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