Page:Four songs (16).pdf/5

Quo' Janet, O keep frae the riot !
Last night, man, I dream'd ye was dead ;
This aught days I tentit a pyot
Sit chatt'rin upo' the house head.

An' yesterday, workin my stockin,
An' you wi' the sheep on the hill,
A muckle black corbie sat croakin ;
I kent it foreboded some ill.

Hout, chear up, dear Janet, be hearty,
For ere the next sun may gae down,
Wha kens but I'll shoot Bonaparte,
An' end my auld days in renown.

Then hear me, quo' Janet, I pray thee,
I'll tend thee, love, living or dead,
An' if thou shou'd fa', I'll die with thee.
Or tie up thy wounds if thou bleed.

Syne aff in a fury he stumpled,
Wi' bullets, an' pouther, an' gun ;
At's curpin auld Janet too humpled,
Awa to the next neighb'rin town.

There footmen an' yeomen paradin,
To scour aff in dirdum were seen ;
Auld wives an' young lasses a-sheddin
The briny saut tears frae their een.