All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost,
     Like the lands of Virginia,—­ginia, O: 
     There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,
     And alas!  I am weary, weary O: 
     There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,
     And alas!  I am weary, weary O: 

     The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear,
     In the lands of Virginia,—­ginia, O;
     And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,
     And alas!  I am weary, weary O: 
     And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,
     And alas!  I am weary, weary O: 

O Can Ye Labour Lea?

     Chorus—­O can ye labour lea, young man,
     O can ye labour lea? 
     It fee nor bountith shall us twine
     Gin ye can labour lea.

     I fee’d a man at Michaelmas,
     Wi’ airle pennies three;
     But a’ the faut I had to him,
     He could na labour lea,
     O can ye labour lea, &c.

     O clappin’s gude in Febarwar,
     An’ kissin’s sweet in May;
     But my delight’s the ploughman lad,
     That weel can labour lea,
     O can ye labour lea, &c.

     O kissin is the key o’ luve,
     And clappin’ is the lock;
     An’ makin’ o’s the best thing yet,
     That e’er a young thing gat. 
     O can ye labour lea, &c.

The Deuks Dang O’er My Daddie

The bairns gat out wi’ an unco shout, The deuks dang o’er my daddie, O!  The fien-ma-care, quo’ the feirrie auld wife, He was but a paidlin’ body, O!  He paidles out, and he paidles in, rn’ he paidles late and early, O!  This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, An’ he is but a fusionless carlie, O.

     O haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
     O haud your tongue, now Nansie, O: 
     I’ve seen the day, and sae hae ye,
     Ye wad na ben sae donsie, O.
     I’ve seen the day ye butter’d my brose,
     And cuddl’d me late and early, O;
     But downa-do’s come o’er me now,
     And oh, I find it sairly, O!

The Deil’s Awa Wi’ The Exciseman

     The deil cam fiddlin’ thro’ the town,
     And danc’d awa wi’ th’ Exciseman,
     And ilka wife cries, “Auld Mahoun,
     I wish you luck o’ the prize, man.”

     Chorus—­The deil’s awa, the deil’s awa,
     The deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman,
     He’s danc’d awa, he’s danc’d awa,
     He’s danc’d awa wi’ the Exciseman.

     We’ll mak our maut, and we’ll brew our drink,
     We’ll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man,
     And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil,
     That danc’d awa wi’ th’ Exciseman. 
     The deil’s awa, &c.

     There’s threesome reels, there’s foursome reels,
     There’s hornpipes and strathspeys, man,
     But the ae best dance ere came to the land
     Was—­the deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman. 
     The deil’s awa, &c.