Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min’? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o’ lang syne? We twa hae rin about the braes, And pu’d the gowans fine; But we’ve wandered monie a weary fit Sin’ auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl’t i’ the burn, Frae mornin’ sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar’d Sin’ auld lang syne. And here’s a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie’s a hand o’ thine; And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught For auld lang syne. And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp, And surely I’ll be mine; And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet For auld lang syne! For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet For auld lang syne. gowans] daisies. fit] foot. dine] dinner-time. fiere] partner. guid-willie waught] friendly draught. _496._ _My Bonnie Mary_ Go fetch to me a pint ’o wine, An’ fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith, Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are rankèd ready; The shouts o’ war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; But it’s no the roar o’ sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o’ war that’s heard afar-- It’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary! _496._ tassie] cup. _497._ _John Anderson, my Jo_ John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo! _497._ jo] sweetheart. brent] smooth, unwrinkled. beld] bald. pow] pate. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We’ve had wi’ ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we’ll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. _497._ canty] cheerful. _498._ _The Banks o’ Doon_ Ye flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o’ the happy days When my fause luve was true. Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wistna o’ my fate. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o’ its luve, And sae did I o’ mine.