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I. LOVE : PERSONAL |
65 |
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Tho' cruel fate should bid us part
Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart
Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl,
And oceans roar between : Yet dearer than my deathless soul
I still would love my Jean. |
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No. 63. Altho' my back be at the wa. |
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Altho' my back be at the wa',
And the-' he be the fautor, Altho' my back be at the wa',
Yet here 's his health in water ! O, wae gae by his wanton sides,
Sae brawlie 's he could flatter; Till for his sake I'm slighted sair
And dree the kintra clatter! But, tho' my back be at the wa',
Yet here's his health in water! |
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