7
Her eyes are as black as Kilkenny’s large coal,
Which through my poor bosom have burnt a
big hole;
Her mind, like its rivers, is mild, clear and
pure,
But her hear is more hard than its marble,
I’m sure.
Fal de ral, &c.
Kilkenny’s is pretty town, and shines where
it stands,
And the more I think on it the more my
heart warms;
For if was in Kilkenny I’d think myself at
home,
For its there I’d get sweathearts, but here I
get none.
Fal de ral, &c.
I WADNA LEA MY LOWLAND LAD.
Haud awa', bide awa'
Hand awa' frae me, Donald;
What care I for a' your wrealth,
An' a' that ye can gi'e, Donald?
I wadna lea' my Lowland lad
For a' your goud and gear, Donald;
Sae tak' your plaid, and o'er the hill,
An' stay nae langer here, Donald
Haud awa', bide awa', &c.
