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As down on Banna's banks I stray'd,
One evening in May;

The little birds with sweetest notes,
Made vocal every spray;
They sung their tender tales of love,
They sung them o'er and o'er,
Ah! grammachree, ma cholleenouge,
Molly Astore.

The daisy pied, and all the sweets,
The dawn of nature yields,
The primrose pale, the violet blue,
Lay scatter'd o'er the fields;
Such fragrance in the bosom dwells
Of her whom I adore,

Ah! grammachree, &c.

I laid me down upon a bank,
Bewailing my sad fate;
That doomed me thus the slave of love,
And cruelly Molly's hate;
How can she break the honest heart
That wears her in its core ?
Ah! grammachree, &c.
You said you loved me, Mary, dear,
Ah! why did I believe?

Yet who would think such tender words,
Were meant but to deceive?
That love was all I asked on earth,
Nay, heaven could grant no more,
Ah! grammachree, &c.

O had I all the flocks that graze,
On yonder mellow hill;

Or lowed for me the num'rous herds,
That yon green pastures fill;
With her I love I'd gladly share
My kine and fleecy store,
Ah! grammachree, &c
Two turtle doves above my head,
Set courting on a bough,
I envied them their happiness
To see them bill and coo;
Such fondness once for me she showed,
But now, alas 'tis o'er,

Ah! grammachree, &c.

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear,
Thy loss I e'er shall mourn;
While life remains in Strephon's heart
'Twill beat for thee alone;

Though thou art false, may heaven on


Its choicest blessing pour.

THE BAY OF BISCAY, O! LouD roared the dreadful thunder, The rain a deluge show'rs, The clouds were rent asunder, By lightning's vivid pow'rs. The night both drear and dark, Our poor devoted bark, Till next day, There she lay, In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Now dash'd upon the billow,

Our op'ning timbers creak, Each fears a wat❜ry pillow,

None stop the dreadful leak! To cling to slipp'ry shrouds, Each breathless seaman crowds, As she lay, 'Till the day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

At length the wish'd for morrow Broke through the hazy sky,Absorb'd in silent sorrow,

Each heav'd a bitter sigh; The dismal wreck to view,

Struck horror to the crew;

As she lay,
On that day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Her yielding timbers sever,
Her pitchy seams are rent,
When heav'n, all bounteous ever,
Its bounteous mercy sent.
A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers;
Now we sail,
With the gale,

From the Bay of Biscay, O!


THE de'il came fiddling thro' the town, And danc'd awa' wi' the exciseman; And ilka wife cried, Auld Mahoun,

We wish you luck o' the prize, man. We'll mak' our maut and brew our drink,

We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice


And monie thanks to the muckle black de'il,

That danc'd awa wi' the exciseman.

There's threesome reels, and foursome


There's hornpipes, and strathspeys,


But the ae best dance e'er came to our


Was the de'il's awa wi' the excise


We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,

We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice


And monie thanks to the muckle black de'il,

That dane'd awa wi' the exciseman


AIR.-There's nae luck about the house

THE sky with clouds was overcast,
The rain began to fall,

My wife she whipped the children,
Who raised a pretty squall;
She bade me with a frowning look,
To get out of her way;
Oh! the deuce a bit of comfort's her
Upon a washing day!

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