Oh! bonny Robin Redbreast, Ye trust in men, ye trust in men, But what their hard hearts are made o', Ye little ken, ye little ken. They 'll ne'er wi' your wee skin be warm'd, Nor wi' your tiny flesh be fed, But just 'cause you 're a living thing, It 's sport wi' them to lay you dead. Ye Hieland and ye Lowland lads, As birdies gay, as birdies gay, Oh, spare them, whistling like yoursel's, And hopping blythe from spray to spray! Their wings were made to soar aloft, And skim the air at liberty; And as you freedom gi'e to them, May you and yours be ever free! SAW YE NAE MY PEGGY?[53] Saw ye nae my Peggy? Saw ye nae my Peggy? Saw ye nae my Peggy comin' Through Tillibelton's broom? I 'm frae Aberdagie, Ower the crafts o' Craigie, For aught I ken o' Peggie, She 's ayont the moon. 'Twas but at the dawin', Clear the cock was crawin', I saw Peggy cawin' Hawky by the brier. Early bells were ringin', Blythest birds were singin', Sweetest flowers were springin', A' her heart to cheer. Now the tempest's blawin', Almond water 's flowin', Deep and ford unknowin', She maun cross the day. Almond waters, spare her, Safe to Lynedoch bear her! Its braes ne'er saw a fairer, Bess Bell nor Mary Gray. Oh, now to be wi' her! Or but ance to see her Skaithless, far or near, I 'd gie Scotland's crown. Byeword, blind 's a lover-- Wha 's yon I discover? Just yer ain fair rover, Stately stappin' down. [53] Another song with the same title, "Saw ye nae my Peggy?" is inserted in the Collections. It first appeared in Herd's Collection, in 1769, though it is understood to be of a considerably older date. Allan Ramsay composed two songs to the same air, but they are both inferior. The air is believed to have originally been connected with some exceptionable words, beginning, "Saw ye my Maggie?" GUDE NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'! The best o' joys maun hae an end, The best o' friends maun part, I trow; The langest day will wear away, And I maun bid fareweel to you. The tear will tell when hearts are fu', For words, gin they hae sense ava, They 're broken, faltering, and few: Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'! Oh, we hae wander'd far and wide, O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell! And mony a simple flower we 've pu'd, And twined it wi' the heather-bell. We 've ranged the dingle and the dell, The cot-house, and the baron's ha'; Now we maun tak a last farewell: Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!