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The Young Laird and Edinburgh Katy by Allan Ramsay
Now wat ye wha I met yestreen
Coming down the street, my Jo,
My mistress in her tartan screen,
Fow bonny, braw and sweet, my Jo.
'My dear,' quoth I, 'thanks to the night,
That never wish'd a lover ill,
Since ye're out of your mither's sight,
Let's take a wauk up to the hill.
'O Katy wiltu gang wi' me,
And leave the dinsome town a while,
The blossom's sprouting frae the tree,
And a' the summer's gawn to smile;
The mavis, nightingale and lark,
The bleeting lambs and whistling hynd,
In ilka dale, green, shaw and park,
Will nourish health, and glad ye'r mind.
'Soon as the clear goodman of day
Bends his morning draught of dew,
We'll gae to some burnside and play,
And gather flowers to busk ye'r brow.
We'll pou the dazies on the green,
The lucken gowans frae the bog;
Between hands now and then we'll lean,
And sport upo' the velvet fog.
'There's up into a pleasant glen,
A wee piece frae my father's tower,
A canny, saft and flow'ry den,
Which circling birks has form'd a bower:
When e'er the sun grows high and warm,
We'll to the cauller shade remove,
There will I lock thee in mine arm,
And love and kiss, and kiss and love.'
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