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The Song Book 177
There's seven butt, and seven ben,
Seven in the pantry \vi' her; Twenty head about the door,
There's one-and-forty wooin' at her. Wooin' at her, &c.
She sits a queen among them a',
Ilka chield expects to get her ; Gin she but let her thimble fa',
They're like to knock their heads together, Wooin' at her, &c.
She's got pendles in her lugs,
Cockle shells wad set her better ; High heel'd shoon and siller tags,
And a' the lads are wooing at her. Wooin' at her, etc.
Be a lassie e'er sae black,
If she hae the name o' siller, Set her up on Tintock tap,
The wind will blaw a man till her. Wooin' at her, etc.
Be a lassie e'er sae fair,
If she want the penny siller, A flie may fell her in the air,
Before a man be even'd till her. Wooin' at her, etc.
From Johnson's Museum.
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