The Book of Scottish Song/Busk ye, busk ye

Busk ye, busk ye.

[Written, with the exception of the first four lines, which are old, by Allan Ramsay, and sung to the fine tune called "The Braes of Yarrow."]

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride,
And let us to the braes of Yarrow.
There will we sport and gather dew,
Dance while lav'rocks sing in the morning;
Then learn frae turtles to prove true,
O Bell, ne'er vex me with thy scorning!

To westlin' breezes Flora yields,
And when the beams are kindly warming,
Blythness appears o'er all the fields,
And nature looks mair fresh and charming.
Learn frae the burns that trace the mead,
Though on their banks the roses blossom,
Yet hastily they flow to Tweed,
And pour their sweetness in his bosom.

Haste ye, haste ye, my bonnie Bell,
Haste to my arms, and there I'll guard thee;
With free consent my fears repel,
I'll with my love and care reward thee.
Thus sang I saftly to my fair,
Wha rais'd my hopes with kind relenting,
O! queen of smiles, I ask nae mair,
Since now my bonnie Bell's consenting.

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