COME, LASSES AND LADS.

Come, lasses and lads, get leave of your dads, And away to the Maypole hie, For ev’ry fair has a sweetheart there, And the fiddler’s standing by;

For Willy shall dance with Jane,
  And Johnny has got his Joan,
To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,
  Trip it up and down!

“You’re out,” says Dick; “not I,” says Nick,
  “’Twas the fiddler play’d it wrong;”
“’Tis true,” says Hugh, and so says Sue,
  And so says ev’ry one. 
The fiddler than began
  To play the tune again,
And ev’ry girl did trip it, trip it,
  Trip it to the men!

Then, after an hour, they went to a bow’r,
  And play’d for ale and cakes;
And kisses too,—­until they were due,
  The lasses held the stakes. 
The girls did then begin
  To quarrel with the men,
And bade them take their kisses back,
  And give them their own again!

“Good-night,” says Harry;
                  “good-night,” says Mary;
  “Good-night,” says Poll to John;
“Good-night,” says Sue
                  to her sweetheart Hugh;
  “Good-night,” says ev’ry one. 
Some walk’d and some did run,
  Some loiter’d on the way,
And bound themselves by kisses twelve,
  To meet the next holiday.

Anon.

COMING THRO’ THE RYE.

Gin a body meet a body
  Comin’ thro’ the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
  Need a body cry?

Ilka lassie has her laddie,
  Nane, they say, hae I,
Yet a’ the lads they smile at me
  When comin’ thro’ the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
  Comin’ frae the town,
Gin a body meet a body,
  Need a body frown? 
    Ilka lassie has, etc.

Amang the train there is a swain
  I dearly lo’e mysel’;
But what his name, or whaur his hame,
  I dinna care to tell. 
    Ilka lassie has, etc.

Anon.

CHERRY-RIPE.

Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
  Full and fair ones, come and buy;
If so be you ask me where
They do grow?  I answer, There,
Where my Julia’s lips do smile,
There’s the land or cherry isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year, where cherries grow.

Herrick.

ANNIE LAURIE.

Maxwelton braes are bonnie,
  Where early fa’s the dew;
And it’s there that Annie Laurie
  Gied me her promise true;
Gied me her promise true,
  Which ne’er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
  I’d lay me doun and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
  Her throat is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest
  That e’er the sun shone on;
That e’er the sun shone on,
  And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
  I’d lay me doun and dee.