Oh Jenny's a' wat, poor body;
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.
Comin’ thro’ the rye.
[Modern theatrical version.]
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, ha'e I!
Yet a' the lads they smile at me,
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e mysell;
But whaur his hame, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' frae the town,
Gin a body greet a body,
Need a body frown?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, ha'e I!
Yet a' the lads they smile at me,
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain,
I dearly lo'e mysell;
But whaur his hame, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.
Oh, dinna ask me.
[Dunlop.—Tune, "Comin' through the rye."]
Oh! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee;
Troth, I daurna tell:
Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye;
Ask it o' yoursel'.
Oh! dinna look sae sair at me,
For weel ye ken me true;
O, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.
When ye gang to yon braw braw town,
And bonnier lasses see,
O, dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest you should mind na me.
For I could never bide the lass,
That ye'd lo'e mair than me;
And O, I'm sure, my heart would break,
Gin ye'd prove false to me.
The silken-snooded lassie.
["The snood or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occur many sly allusions to such misfortune, as in the old words to the popular tune of 'O'er the muir amang the heather.'"—Note by Sir Walter Scott to the Lady of the Lake.]
Coming through the broom at e'en,
And coming through the broom sae dreary,
The lassie lost her silken snood,
Which cost her many a blirt and blear e'e.
Fair her hair, and brent her brow,
And bonnie blue her een when near ye;
The mair I prie'd her bonnie mou',
The mair I wish'd her for my dearie.
The broom was lang, the lassie gay,
And O but I was unco cheerie;
The snood was tint, a well a day!
For mirth was turn'd to blirt and blear e'e.
I press'd her hand, she sigh'd, I woo'd,
And spier'd, What gars ye sob, my dearie?
Quoth she, I've lost my silken snood;
And never mair can look sae cheerie.
I said, Ne'er mind the silken snood
Nae langer mourn, nor look sae dreary;
I'll buy you ane that's twice as good;
If you'll consent to be my dearie.
