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Thou Art Gane Awa'.

Thou art gane awa', thou are gane awa',
 Thou art gane awa' frae me, Mary!
Nor friends nor I could make thee stay—
 Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary!
Until this hour I never thought
 That aught could alter thee, Mary;
Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart,
 Think what you will of me, Mary.

Whate'er he said or might pretend,
 That stole the heart of thine, Mary,
True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end,
 Or nae sic love as mine, Mary.
I spoke sincere, nor flattered much:
 Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary;
Ambition, wealth, nor naething such:
 No, I loved only thee, Mary.

Though you've been false, yet while I live,
 I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, Mary;
Let friends forget, as I forgive,
 Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary;
So then, farewell! of this be sure,
 Since you've been false to me, Mary;
For all the world I'd not endure
 Half what I've done for thee, Mary.

Every Bullet Has Its Billet.

I'm a tough true-hearted sailor,
 Careless and all that, d'ye see,
Never at the times a railer—
 What is time or tide to me?
All must die when fate shall will it,
 Providence ordains it so:
Every bullet has its billet,—
 Man the boat, boys—Yeo, heave yeo!

"Life's at best a sea of trouble,
 He who fears it is a dunce;
Death to me's an empty bubble,
 I can never die but once.