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viii. JACOBITE |
271 |
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But 'tis not my suff'rings thus wretched, forlorn— My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn !
Your faith prov'd so loyal in hot-bloody trial, Alas! can I make it no better return ? |
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No. 287. My love was born in Aberdeen.
Tune : The White Cockade Scots Musical Museum, 1790, No. 272. |
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My love was born in Aberdeen, The boniest lad that e'er was seen ; But now he makes our hearts fu' sad,— He takes the field wi' his White Cockade.
Chorus. O, he's a ranting, roving lad! He is a brisk an' a bonie lad! Betide ivhat may, I will be wed, And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade.
I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow,
My gude gray mare and hawkit cow,
To buy mysel a tartan plaid,
To follow the boy wi' the White Cockade. |
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