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The KIND LASSIE.
WHEN I gaed to the mill my lane,
for to grind my ma't,
The miller laddie kist me,
I thought it was nae fau't.
What though the laddie kist me,
when I was at the mill,
A kiss is but a touch,
and a touch can do na ill.
O I loe the miller-laddie,
and my laddie loes me,
He has sic a blyth look,
and a bonny blinking eye.
What though the laddie kist me,
when I was at the mill?
A kiss is but a touch,
and a touch can do no ill.
Blink over the Burn, Sweet BETTY.
IN Summer I mawed my meadows,
in Harvest I shure my corn,
In Winter I married a widow,
I wish I was free the morn.
Blink over the burn sweet Betty,
blink over the burn to me,
O it is a thousand pities,
but I was a widow for thee,
FINIS.
