Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When temptingly it offers me
So rich a treat—before folk?
That gowden hair sae sunny bright;
That shapely neck o' snawy white;
That tongue, even when it tries to flyte,
Provokes me till't before folk!
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When ilka charm, young, fresh, an' warm,
Cries, "kiss me now"—before folk?
An' O! that pawkie, rowin' e'e,
Sae roguishly it blinks on me,
I canna, for my saul, let be,
Frae kissing you before folk!
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When ilka glint conveys a hint
To tak' a smack—before folk?
Ye own, that were we baith our lane,
Ye wadna grudge to grant me ane;
Weel, gin there be nae harm in't then,
What harm is in't before folk,
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
Sly hypocrite! an anchorite
Could scarce desist—before folk!
But after a' that has been said,
Since ye are willing to be wed,
We'll ha'e a "blythsome bridal" made,
When ye'll be mine before folk!
Then I'll behave, then I'll behave,
Then I'll behave before folk;
For whereas then, ye'll aft get "ten,"
It winna be before folk!
Jockie’s far awa’.
[Walter Watson.]
Now simmer decks the fields wi' flow'rs,
The woods wi' leaves so green;
And little birds around their bow'rs,
In harmony convene:
The cuckoo flies from tree to tree,
Whilst saft the zephyrs blaw;
But what are a' thae joys to me,
When Jockie'a far awa'?
When Jockie's far awa' at sea,
When Jockie's far awa',
But what are a' thae joys to me,
When Jockie's far awa'?
Last May morn how sweet to see
The little lambkins play,
Whilst my dear lad, alang wi' me,
Did kindly walk this way.
On yon green bank wild flow'rs he pou'd,
To busk my bosom braw;
Sweet, sweet he talk'd, and aft he vow'd,
But now he's far awa'.
But now, &c.
O gentle peace return again,
Bring Jockie to my arms,
Frae dangers on the raging main,
Frae cruel war's alarms,
Gin e'er we meet, nae mair we'll part
As lang's we've breath to draw;
Nae mair I'll sing wi' aching heart,
My Jockie's far awa'.
My Jockie's, &c.
It’s no that thou’rt bonnie.
[Alex. Rodger.]
It's no that thou'rt bonnie, it's no that thou'rt braw,
It's no that thy skin has the whiteness o' snaw,
It's no that thy form is perfection itsel',
That mak's nay heart feel what my tongue canna tell;
But oh! it's the soul beaming out frae thine e'e,
That mak's thee sae dear and sae lovely to me.
It's pleasant to look on that mild blushing face,
Sae sweetly adorn'd wi' ilk feminine grace,
It's joyous to gaze on these tresses sae bright,
O'ershading a forehead sae smooth and sae white;
But to dwell on the glances that dart frae thine e'e,
O Jeanie! it's evendown rapture to me.
That form may be wasted by lingering decay,
The bloom of that cheek may be withtr'd away,
Those gay gowden ringlets that yield such delight,
By the cauld breath o' time may be changed into white;
But the soul's fervid flashes that brighten thine e'e,
Are the offspring o' heaven, and never can die.
