Old Ballads | Page 9

horses and
call out my men, Unhook the west port, and let us gae free, For it's up
with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells they ring
backward, the drums they are beat, But the Provost (douce man) said,
"Just e'en let it be, For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth; If there's
lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north, There are brave
Dunevassals, three thousand times three, Will cry hey! for the bonnets
of Bonnie Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks: Ere I own an usurper I'll

crouch wi' the fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee
Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
_Sir Walter Scott._

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally; She is
the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in
the land That's half so sweet as Sally: She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em. But sure
such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally: She is the darling
of my heart, And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work (I love her so sincerely), My master
comes, like any Turk, And bangs me most severely. But let him bang
his belly full, I'll bear it all for Sally: She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week, I dearly love but one day; And that's
the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday. For then I'm
dress'd all in my best, To walk abroad with Sally: She is the darling of
my heart, And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I
leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named. I leave the church in
sermon time, And slink away to Sally: She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again, Oh! then I shall have money; I'll
hoard it up, and box and all I'll give it to my honey. I would it were ten
thousand pounds, I'd give it all to Sally: She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbours all Make game of me and Sally; And
(but for her) I'd better be A slave, and row a galley. But when my seven
long years are out, Oh! then I'll marry Sally: Oh! then we'll wed, and
then we'll bed, But not in our alley.
_Henry Carey._

KITTY OF COLERAINE.
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk
from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher
it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk water'd the plain.
"Oh, what shall I do now? 'Twas looking at you, now; Sure, sure, such
a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again. 'Twas the pride of my dairy, O Barnay
M'Leary, You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine!
I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, That such a misfortune
should give her such pain.
A kiss then I gave her, before I did leave her, She vow'd for such
pleasure she'd break it again. 'Twas haymaking season, I can't tell the
reason-- Misfortunes will never come single, that's plain-- For very
soon after poor Kitty's disaster The devil a pitcher was whole in
Coleraine.
_Edward Lysaght._

HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen, Now to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, And here's to the housewife
that's thrifty: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant she'll prove
an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, Now to the damsel with
none, sir; Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And now to the
nymph with but one, sir: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant
she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,