Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid the flaring idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?
My love is but a lassie.
[This is an old song, which received some touches from Burns for Johnson's Museum. Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe says that the old title of the air was "Put up your dagger, Jamie." The words to this are in "Vox Borealis, or the Northern Discovery," 1641.
"Put up thy dagger, Jamie,
And all thing shall be mended;
Bishops shall fall, no, not at all,
When the parliament is ended.
"Which never was intended
But only for to flame thee,
We've gotten the game,
We'll keep the same,—
Put up thy dagger, Jamie."
The tune was also in former times used as a dancing-tune, and called "Lady Badinscoth's Reel."]
My love, she's but a lassie yet;
My love, she's but a lassie yet;
I'll let her stand a year or twa;
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, O;
I rue the day I sought her, O;
Wha gets her, needna say he's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought her, O.
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will—
But here I never miss'd it yet.
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife,
And couldna preach for thinking o't.
Come, let me take.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection to the tune of "Cauld kail in Aberdeen."]
Come, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn, as vilest dust,
The warld's wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone
That I may live to love her.
Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure:
And, by thy een sac bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never.
Duncan M'Cleary.
Duncan M'Cleary, an' Janet his wife,
Duncan M'Cleary, he play'd on the fife;
Janet she dauncit, quhill she cried wearie,
"Unco weel dauncit," quo' Duncan M'Cleary.
Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet M'Cleary,
Duncan was blin', an' Janet was blearie,
He was deafish beside, an' couldna' just hear aye;
"There's nae muckle matter," quo' Janet M'Cleary.
Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife,
War peaceable bodies an' vitet a' strife;
She rubbit his beard, an' he ca'ed her his dearie;
O couthie was Duncan wi' Janet M'Cleary.
Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife,
They toitet an' toilet thegither through life;
When Duncan was douff, Janet never was cheerie,
Sae aesome was Janet an' Duncan M'Cleary.
Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet M'Cleary,
Tho' lovin' an' sweet, the twa couldna wear aye;
Sae Duncan he deet, and Janet grew drearie,
An' soon stappit awa' after Duncan M'Cleary.
