The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

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I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove,
My height of ecstasy to prove,
Nor sighing—thus— present my love
With roses eke and lilies.
But, stay— I had amaist forgot
My mistress, and my sang to boot,
And that's an unco faut, I wot
But, Nansy, 'tis nae matter
Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme,
And ken ye that atones the crime
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime,
And glide away like water !
Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair.
Thy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair,
Thy half-shut een, and hoddling air,
Are a' my passion's fuel
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see,
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee
Yet thou hast charms enew for me ;
Then smile, and be na cruel.
Leeze me on thy snawy pow.
Lucky Nansy, Lucky Nansy
Dryest wood will eithest low.
And, Nansy, sae will ye now.
Troth, I have sung the sang to you,
Which ne'er anither bard wad do ;
Hear, then, my charitable vow,
Dear venerable Nansy
But, if the world my passion wrang,
And say ye only live in sang,
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue,
And sing to please my fancy.
Leeze me on, &c.*
* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
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