The Banks of the Tweed

To the soft murm'ring streams I will sing of my love,

How delighted I am when abroad I can rove

To indulge a fond passion for Jockey my dear!

When he's absent I sigh, but how blithe when he's near;

'Tis thus rural amusement delights my sad heart;

Come away to my arms love and never depart.

To his pipe I could sing, for he's bonny and gay:

Did he know how I lov'd him, no longer he'd stay.

Neither linnet or nightingale sing half so sweet;

And the soft melting strain did kind echo repeat:

It so ravish'd my heart, and delighted my ear.

Swift as lightning I flew to the arms of my dear.

She, surpriz'd, and detected, some moments did stand;

Like the rose was her cheek, and the lily her hand,

Which she plac'd on her breast, and said, Jockey, I fear

I have been too imprudent: pray, how came you here?

For to visit my ewes, and to see my lambs play,

By the banks of the Tweed and the groves I did stray:

But, my Jenny, dear Jenny, how oft have I sigh'd,

And have vow'd endless love, if you'd be my bride:

To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair;

Where the knot of affection shall tie the fond pair;

To the pipe's sprightly notes the gay dance we will lead,

And will bless the dear grove, by the banks of the Tweed.