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"Behave Yoursel' Before Folk 751

I wrought that morning out an' out,
As I'd been redding fire, O!
When I had done an' looked about,
Gudefaith, it was the byre, O!

Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget,

The dear, the lovely blinkin' o't

Has pierced me through an' through the heart,
An' plagues me wi' the prinkling o't.

I tried to sing, I tried to pray,

I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o't,
I tried wi' sport to drive 't away,
But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.

Nae man can tell what pains I prove,
Or how severe my pliskie, O!
I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love

Than ever I was wi' whiskey, O!
For love has raked me fore an' aft,
I scarce can lift a leggie, O!
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O!

James Hogg (1770-1835]

"BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK"

BEHAVE yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk,

And dinna be sae rude to me,
As kiss me sae before folk.

It wadna gi'e me meikle pain,

Gin we were seen and heard by nane,

To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane;

But guidsake! no before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk;
Whate'er ye do, when out o' view,
Be cautious aye before folk.

Consider, lad, how folk will crack,
And what a great affair they'll mak'
O' naething but a simple smack,
That's gi'en or ta'en before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;
Nor gi'e the tongue o' auld or young
Occasion to come o'er folk.

It's no through hatred o' a kiss,
That I sae plainly tell you this;
But, losh! I tak' it sair amiss
To be sae teased before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;

When we're our lane ye may tak' ane,

But fient a ane before folk.

I'm sure wi' you I've been as free
As ony modest lass should be;
But yet it doesna do to see
Sic freedom used before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;
I'll ne'er submit again to it-
So mind you that-before folk.

Ye tell me that my face is fair;
It may be sae-I dinna care-
But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair
As ye ha'e done before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk;

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Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, But aye be douce before folk.

Ye tell me that my lips are sweet,
Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit;
At ony rate, it's hardly meet

Rory O'More; or, Good Omens 753

To pree their sweets before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk;

Gin that's the case, there's time, and place,

But surely no before folk.

But, gin you really do insist
That I should suffer to be kissed,
Gae, get a license frae the priest,
And mak' me yours before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;

And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,
Ye may tak' ten-before folk.

Alexander Rodger [1784-1846]

RORY O'MORE; OR, GOOD OMENS

YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn,
He was bold as a hawk,-she as soft as the dawn;
He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry
(Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye),

"With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about,
Faith, you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."
"Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day;
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure?
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;

The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.”
"Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground."
"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go;

Sure I drame ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!"
"Oh," says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,
For drames always go by conthrairies, my dear;

So, jewel, keep draming that same till you die,
And bright mornin' will give dirty night the black lie!
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure?
Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

“Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough,
Sure I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;
And I've made myself, drinkin' your health, quite a baste,
So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,

So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,

And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light,

And he kissed her sweet lips;-don't you think he was right? "Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no more; That's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before." "Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,

For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

ASK AND HAVE

"OH, 'tis time I should talk to your mother,

Sweet Mary," says I;

"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says Mary,

Beginning to cry:

"For my mother says men are deceivers,

And never, I know, will consent;

She says girls in a hurry to marry,
At leisure repent."

"Then, suppose I would talk to your father,

Sweet Mary," says I;

"Oh, don't talk to my father," says Mary,

Beginning to cry:

"For my father he loves me so dearly,

He'll never consent I should go---
If you talk to my father," says 'Mary,
"He'll surely say, 'No.'"

The Plaidie

"Then how shall I get you, my jewel?
Sweet Mary," says I;

"If your father and mother's so cruel,
Most surely I'll die!"

"Oh, never say die, dear," says Mary;
"A way now to save you I see;

Since my parents are both so contrary-
You'd better ask me!"

755

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

KITTY OF COLERAINE

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,

With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine,

When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled,

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And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.

Oh! what shall I do now-'twas looking at you, now;
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again!
'Twas the pride of my dairy! Oh! Barney MacCleary,
You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine."

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her,
That such a misfortune should give her such pain;
A kiss then I gave her, and, ere I did leave her,
She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again.

'Twas hay-making season-I can't tell the reason
Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain;
For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.

Charles Dawson Shanly [1811-1875]

THE PLAIDIE

UPON ane stormy Sunday,

Coming adoon the lane,
Were a score of bonnie lassies-

And the sweetest I maintain,

Was Caddie,

That I took un'neath my plaidie,

1 F To shield her from the rain.

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