7
They busk us braw as e'er they can,
They go to the fair to get a man,
They all rank up about the cross,
Lads come and take them up by force.
O rare country Lasses, O rare Lasses O
Then next a fiddle they do want
key(illegible text) they, we'll have a clever rant
Then bid them for to chuse their spring,
Due's Dainty Davie—ony thing, &c.
They dance and loup as they were daft
and are like to ding down the laft;
They dance till they are out of breath,
And to leave it are very laith, O'rare &c.
The Lasses say they must away,
Because they dare no longer stay;
O, says the Lads stay yet a while,
and we will go with you a mile, O rare, &c.
Then homeward they do steer again,
The Lads have nothing for their pain,
at now their money is all gone,
Which makes them rue when they come home, &c.
The Lasses will laugh at them now,
