I Do confess thou art sae fair, I was been o'er the lugs in luve, Had I nafound the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, butfind Thou art so thriftless o'thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder

When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtintime is near, my jo, And owsenfraethe furrow'd field Return sae dowfand weary O; Down bythe burn, where birkenbuds Wi'dew are hangin clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. At midnight hour, in mirkest glen, I'd rove, and ne'er be

There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; And he had a wife was the plague of his days, And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Aeday as the carl gaed up the langglen, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; He met

O lady Mary Ann looks o'er the Castle wa', She sawthree bonie boys playing at the ba', The youngest he was the flower amangthem a', My bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. O father, O father, an ye think it fit, We'll send him a year to the college yet, We'll sew a green

Ill-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, To think Life's sun did sete'erwell begun To shed its influence on thy bright career. O why should truest Worthand Genius pine Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine In all the splendour Fortune

Ithers seek they kennawhat, Features, carriage, and a' that; Gieme love in her I court, Love to love maks a'the sport. Let love sparkle in her e'e; Let her lo'e naeman butme; That's the tocher-gudeI prize, There the luver's treasure lies.

"Whare live ye, my bonielass? And tell me what they ca'ye;" "My name," she says, "is mistress Jean, And I follow the Collier laddie." "My name, she says, &c. "See you not yonhills and dales The sun shines on sae brawlie; They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, Gin ye'll leave your Collier

Chorus-O can ye labour lea, young man, O can ye labour lea? It fee nor bountithshall us twine Ginye can labour lea. I fee'd a man at Michaelmas, Wi'airlepennies three; But a'the fautI had to him, He could nalabour lea, O can ye labour lea, &c. O clappin's gudein Febarwar, An' kissin's sweet in May;