My father argued sair, my mother didna speak,
But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he,
Till he said, “I’m come back for to marry thee.”

Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say,
We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away;
I wish I were dead! but I’m no like to dee;
And why do I live to say, Wae’s me?

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin. 
But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be,
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.

        Lady Anne Lindsay.

BONNIE DUNDEE.

To the lords of Convention, ’twas Claverhouse spoke,
Ere the king’s crown go down there are crowns to be broke;
Then each cavalier who loves honour and me,
Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
  Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
  Unhook the west port, and let us gae free,
  For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost (douce man) said, “Just e’en let it be,
For the town is well rid o’ that deil o’ Dundee.”

  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;
If there’s lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north,
There are brave Dunevassals, three thousand times three,
Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.

Then awa’ to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks: 
Ere I own an usurper I’ll crouch wi’ the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee
Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me.

  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.

        Sir Walter Scott.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

Of all the girls that are so smart,
  There’s none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley. 
There is no lady in the land
  That’s half so sweet as Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
  And through the streets does cry ’em;
Her mother she sells laces long
  To such as please to buy ’em. 
But sure such folks could ne’er beget
  So sweet a girl as Sally: 
She is the darling of my heart,
  And she lives in our alley.