Song XI. a Favourite Scotch Air

When Donald first came wooing me, 'Twas on Cromarty Green, The lad had long been loving me, Tho' I was but nineteen: He sung of that, and talk'd of this, And many things said he, At length he cry'd, and took a kiss, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee; 'My bonny, blithsome, winsome lass, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee.'

'I winna, canna marry you,' Said I, 'so let me go;' He kiss'd, he press'd, what could I do, While he kept teazing so? 'And wilt thou e'er prove false?' I said, 'O try me, love;' said he; 'Why then,' says I, 'I think we'll wed, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee: 'My bonny, blithsome, winsome lad, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee.'

I told him plain, it munna be, For why, I was too young; And was for tripping o'er the lea, In spite of all he sung: 'Stop, lassy, stop awhile, he cry'd, And pull'd me on his knee, 'I tell thee, thou shalt be a bride, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee: 'My bonny, blithsome, winsome lass, 'Sweet love, I'll marry thee.'