Say, was it foul, or was it fair,
To come a hunder mile and mair,
For to ding out my daddie's heir,
And dash him wi' the wiggin' o't?
O, this is no my ain house, &c.
This is no my ain lassie.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection. This is generally sung to the tune of "Deil stick the minister."]
O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair though the lassie be;
O weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.
I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place;
It wants to me the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
O this is no my ain lassie, &c.
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my vera saul,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
O this is no my ain lassie, &c.
A thief sae pawkie is my Jean;
She'll steal a blink by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lover's een,
When kind love is in the e'e.
O this is no my ain lassie, &c.
It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clarks;
But weel the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her e'e.
O this is no my ain lassie, &c.
This is no my plaid.
[W. Halley.]
O this is no my plaid,
My plaid, my plaid;
O this is no my plaid,
Bonnie though the colours be.
The ground o' mine was mix'd wi' blue,
I gat it friie the lad I lo'e,
He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue,
An' O the plaid is dear to me.
O this is no my plaid, &c.
For mine was silky, saft, an' warm,
It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm,
An' like himsel', it bore a charm,
An' O the plaid is dear to me.
O this is no my plaid, &c.
The lad that gied me't likes me weel,
Although his name I darena tell,
He likes me just as weel's himsel',
An' O the plaid is dear to me.
O this is no my plaid, &c.
Frae surly blasts it covers me,
He'll me himsel' protection gi'e,
I'll lo'e him till the day I die,
His plaid shall aye be dear to me.
O this is no my plaid, &c.
The time may come, my ain dear lad,
When we will to the kirk and wed,
Weel happit in thy tartan plaid,
That plaid shall aye be dear to me.
O this will then be my plaid,
My plaid, my plaid,
O this will then be my plaid,
An' while I live shall ever be.
The Lassie by the Loch.
[The author of this song is Robt. Carmichael, who served for several years in the Mediterranean, on board H. M. ship Unite, with Capt. Charles Gray, author of "Lays and Lyrics."—Air, "Wat ye wha I met yestreen?"]
Frae Caledonia's climes afar,
Upon the rough an' roaring main,
I sail'd, marine, in man-o'-war,
At last, on leave, came home again.
As I ilk youthfu' haunt did pass,
An' near my native village drew;
I little thought upon the lass—
That now dwells by the loch sae blue.
