8
I winna bae the domniee, guid he cannie be,
But I will hae my Sandy lad, my Sandy o‘er the lee.
For he‘s ay a-kissing, kissing, ay a-kissing, me;
He's ay a-'kissing, kissing, ay a-kissing me.
I winna hae the minister for all his godly Looks,
Nor yet yill I the lawyer hae, for a’ his wily crooks;
I winna hae the plowman lad, nor yet will I the miller,
But I will hae my Sandy lad without a penny siller,
For he's ay a-kissing, &c.
I winna hae the soldier lad for he gangs to the war;
I winna hae the soldier lad because he smells o’ tar;
I winna hae the lord nor laird for a’ their meikle gear,
But l will hae my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the muir,
For he's ay a-kissing, &c,
SHOULD I DIE.
Should I die by the force of good wine,
‘Tis my will that a ton by my shrine,
And for ages yet to come,
Let this be engrav d upon my tomb—
Here lies a body, once so brave,
That be by drinking made his grave,
Sines tha to die will purchase fame,
And raise us up a lasting name,
Drink about, and dare to be nobly interr'd;
Let misers and knaves
Slink into their graves
And rot in a dirty churchyard.
FINIS.
