Bonny lass, canny lass, willta be mine? Thou'se neither wesh dishes, nor sarrah (_serve_) the swine, Thou sall sit on a cushion, and sew up a seam, And thou sall eat strawberries, sugar, and cream! CCCCLXXXIV. Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,[*] They were two bonny lasses: They built their house upon the lea, And covered it with rashes. Bessy kept the garden gate, And Mary kept the pantry: Bessy always had to wait, While Mary lived in plenty. [Footnote *: The common tradition respecting these celebrated beauties is as follows:--"In the year 1666, when the plague raged at Perth, these ladies retired into solitude, to avoid infection; built on a small streamlet, tributary to the Almond, in a sequestered corner called _Burn-brae_, a bower, and lived in it together, till a young man, whom they both tenderly loved, in his visits communicated to them the fatal contagion, of which they soon after died."] CCCCLXXXV. Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down, and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after. CCCCLXXXVI. Little Tom Dandy Was my first suitor, He had a spoon and dish, And a little pewter. CCCCLXXXVII. There was a little pretty lad, And he lived by himself, And all the meat he got He put upon a shelf. The rats and the mice Did lead him such a life, That he went to Ireland To get himself a wife. The lanes they were so broad, And the fields they were so narrow, He couldn't get his wife home Without a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow broke, My wife she got a kick, The deuce take the wheelbarrow, That spared my wife's neck. CCCCLXXXVIII. Rowley Powley, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry; When the girls begin to cry, Rowley Powley runs away. CCCCLXXXIX. Margaret wrote a letter, Seal'd it with her finger, Threw it in the dam For the dusty miller. Dusty was his coat, Dusty was the siller, Dusty was the kiss I'd from the dusty miller. If I had my pockets Full of gold and siller, I would give it all To my dusty miller. _Chorus._ O the little, little, Rusty, dusty, miller. CCCCXC. Love your own, kiss your own. Love your own mother, hinny, For if she was dead and gone, You'd ne'er get such another, hinny. CCCCXCI. Here comes a lusty wooer, My a dildin, my a daldin; Here comes a lusty wooer, Lily bright and shine a'. Pray, who do you woo, My a dildin, my a daldin? Pray, who do you woo, Lily bright and shine a'? For your fairest daughter, My a dildin, my a daldin; For your fairest daughter, Lily bright and shine a'. Then there she is for you, My a dildin, my a daldin; Then there she is for you, Lily bright and shine a'.