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I said, My lassie, will ye gang
To the Highland hills, some Earse to learn?
And I'll gie thee baith cow and ewe,
When ye come to the brig of Earn.
At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash,
And herrings at the Broomilaw;
Cheer up your heart, my bonny lass,
There's gear to win we never saw.
A' day when we hae wrought enough,
When winter frosts and snaws begin,
Soon as the' sun gaes west the loch,
At night when ye sit down to spin,
I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring ;
And thus the weary night we'll end,
Till the tender kid, and lamb-time, bring
Our pleasant simmer back again.
Syne when the trees are in their bloom,
And gowans glent o'er ilka field,
I'll meet my lass amang the broom,
And lead her to my simmer bield.
There, far frae a' their scornfu' din,
That mak the kindly heart their sport,
Well laugh, and kiss, and dance, and sing,
And gar the iangest day seem short.
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