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The Song Book |
159 |
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CXXIV
THE LASS OF PA TIE'S MILL |
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Without the help of art,
Like fiow'rs that grace the wild, She did her sweets impart,
Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. Her looks they were so mild,
Free from affected pride, She me to love beguil'd;
I wish'd her for my bride. |
O, had I all the wealth
Hopeton's high mountains fill, Insur'd long life and health,
And pleasure at my will ; I'd promise and fulfil,
That none but bonny she, The lass of Patie's mill,
Should share the same wi' me. |
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Words by Allan Ramsay. |
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