My poor heart then break it must, My last hour I’m near it: When you lay me in the dust, Think how you will bear it. ‘I will hope and trust in Heaven, Nancy, Nancy; Strength to bear it will be given, My spouse Nancy.’ Well, sir, from the silent dead Still I’ll try to daunt you; Ever round your midnight bed Horrid sprites shall haunt you. ‘I’ll wed another, like my dear Nancy, Nancy; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse Nancy.’ HEY FOR A LASS WI’ A TOCHER Awa wi’ your witchcraft o’ beauty’s alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms: O, gie me the lass that has acres o’ charms, O, gie me the lass wi’ the weel-stockit farms. Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher, then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher—the nice yellow guineas for me! Your beauty’s a flower in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows; But the rapturous charm o’ the bonnie green knowes! Ilk spring they’re new deckit wi’ bonnie white yowes. And e’en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o’ beauty may cloy, when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings wi’ Geordie imprest— The langer ye hae them, the mair they’re carest. SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddie; Willie was a wabster guid, Could stown a clue wi’ ony body: He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Maidgie was her mither; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her! She has an e’e, she has but ane, The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin beard about her mou’, Her nose and chin they threaten ither; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her! She’s bow-hough’d, she’s hein-shinn’d, Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter; She’s twisted right, she’s twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter: She has a hump upon her breast, The twin o’ that upon her shouther; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her! Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, An’ wi’ her loof her face a-washin; But Willie’s wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi’ a hushion: Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan Water; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her! O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? O lassie, art thou sleeping yet? Or art thou wakin’, I would wit? For love has bound me hand and foot, And I would fain be in, jo.