OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Freemason's song/The False Lover

THE FALSE LOVER.
My parents rear'd me tenderly, endeavouring for me ſtill, And in the town of Wagan they bound me to a mill, Where there I ſpied a Wexford girl, that had a black rolling eye. And I offered to marry her if ſhe would with me lie.
In six months after this this maid grew big with child, Marry me, dear Johnny, as you did me beguile; I promiſed to marry her, as ſhe was big with child: But little did this fair maid know her life I would beguile.
I took her from her siſter's door, at 8 o’clock at night, But little did this fair maid know at her I bore a ſpite; I invited her to take a walk to the fields a little way, That we might conclude a while and appoint a wedding day.
​But as we were diſcoursing Satan did me ſur- round, I pull’d a ſtick out of the hedge and knock'd this fair maid down, Down on her bended knees ſhe fell, and for mercy ſhe did cry, I’m innocent, don’t murder me, for I’m not pre- par’d to die.
He took her by the yellow hair, and dragged her along, And threw her into a river that ran both deep and ſtrong, All in the blood of innocence his hands and clothes were dy’d. He was ſtain'd with the purple gore of his in- tended bride.
Then returning to his mother’s door, at 12 o’- clock at night; But little did his mother think how he had ſpent the night, Come tell to me, dear Johnny, what dy'd your hands and clothes? The anſwer that he made her was, bleeding at the noſe.
He called for a candle to light himſelf to bed, And all the whole night over the damſel lay dead, And all that whole night over peace nor reſt he could not find,
​For the burning flame of torment before his breaſt did ſhine.
(illegible text)three days after this fair maid ſhe was miſ'd, He was taken up on ſuspicion, and into jail was caſt, Her siſter ſwore away his life, without either fear or doubt, Her siſter ſwore away his life, because he call’d her out.
(illegible text)six weeks after that this fair maid ſhe was found, (illegible text)ming floating to ber brother's door, that liv'd in Wexford town.
# Freemason's song/My Friend and Pitcher

My Friend and Pitcher.
The wealthy fool, with gold in ſtore, will ſtill deſire to grow the richer, (illegible text)e me but theſe, I ask no more, my charming girl, my friend and pitcher.
​My friend ſo rare, my girl ſo fair, with ſuch what mortal can be richer? Give me but theſe, a fig for care, with my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher.
From morning fun I'd never grieve to toil, a hedger, or a ditcher, If that, when I come home at eve, I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.
Though fortune ever ſhuns my door, (I know not what can thus bewitch her,) With all my heart I can be poor, with my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher
FINIS.
# Tight little island

The Tight Little Island,
When the hollow
DRUM,
AND
There was an Old Woman
In our Town.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
1818.
* The Tight Little Island
* When the Hollow Drum, &c.
* There Was an Old Woman
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Tight little island/The Tight Little Island

The Tight Little Island.
       Daddy Neptune, one day,
       To Freedom did say,
If ever I live upon dry land,
       The spot I should hit on,
       Would be little Britain-
Says Freedom, Why that's my own Island !
       Oh, what a snug little island,
       A right little, tight little island;
Search the globe round-none can be found,
       So happy as this little island.
       Julius Cæsar, the Roman
       Who yielded to no man,
Came by water, he couldnt come by land,
       And Dane, Pict, and Saxon,
       Their home turn'd their backs on,
And all for the sake of our island.
       Oh, what a snug little island,
       They'd all have a touch at the island,
Some were shot dead--some of them fled,
       And some staid to live on the island.
       Then a very great war=man,
       Call'd Billy the Norman,
Cried, Hang it, I never lik‘d my land,
       It would be more handy,
       To leave this Normandy,
And live on yon beautiful island.
       Says he, Tis a snug little island,
       Shan't we go visit the island,
Hop, skip, and jump-there he was plump,
       And he kick'd up a dust in the island.
       Yet party deceit,
       Help'd the Normans to beat,
Of traitors they manag'd to buy land,
       By Dane, Saxon, or Pict,
       We ne'er had been lick'd,
Had they stuck to the King of the Island.
       Poor Harold, the King of the Island,
       He lost both his life and the island,
That's very true-what could he do,
       Like a Briton he died for the island.
       Then the Spanish Armada,
       Sent out to invade a'.
Quite sure, if they ever came nigh land;
       They coudn't do less,
       Than tuck up Queen Bess,
And take their full swig in the island,
       Oh, the poor Queen of the Island,
       The drones came to plunder the island,
But snug in her hive-the Q ueen was alive,
       Andbuz was the word in the island.
       These proud puff’d up cakes,
       Thought to make ducks and drakes
Of our wealth, but they scarcely could spy land’
       Ere our Drake had the luck,
To make their pride duck, And stoop to the lads of the island.
       Huzza for the lads of the island,
       The good wooden walls of the island.
Monsieur or Don—let them come on, But how would they come off at the
          island.
       I dont wonder much,
       That the French and the Dutch
Have since been oft tempted to try land,
       And I wonder much less,
       They have met no success,
For why should we give up our island.
       Oh ’tis a wonderful island,
       All of them long for the island,
Hold a bit there—let them take fire and air,
       But we’ll keep the sea and the island.
       Then since Freedom and Neptune,
       Have hitherto kept tune,
In each saying, This shall be my land,
       Should the army of England,
       And all they could bring land,
We’d shew them some play for the island.
    We'd' fight for our right to the island. ​
       We'd give them enough of the island,
Frenchmen should just-bite at the dust,
       But not a bit more of the island.
# Tight little island/When the Hollow Drum, &c.

       When the hollow drum, &c.
When the hollow drum has beát to bed ; When the little fifer hangs his head;
          Still and mute,
          The Moorish flute,
       And nodding guards watch wearily;
          Then will we,
          From prison free,
       March out by moon-light cheerily.
When the Moorish cymbals clash by day ; When the brazen trumpet's shrilly bray;
          The slave, in vain,
          May then complain,
Of tyranny and knavery.
          Would he know,
          His time to go,
And slily slip from ’slavery—-
’Tis when the hollow drum has beat to bed ; When the little fifer hangs his head ;
          Still and mute,
          The Moorish flute,
And nodding guards watch wearily;
          Oh! then must he,
          From prison free,
       March out by moonlight cheerily.
# Tight little island/There Was an Old Woman

There was an old woman.
There was an old woman in our town, In our town did dwell, She lov’d her husband dearly, But another man twice as well.
She went unto the Doctor’s, To see what she could find, To see if she could get any thing, To drive her husband blind.
    Sing whack, fal lal &c.
It’s you must get some marrow-bones, And make him suck them all, Your husband then will grow so blind. He can't see you at all.
    Sing whack, &c.
O then she got some marrow-bones And made him suck them all, The old man then he grew so blind. He could not see at all.
    Sing whack, &c.
​I'm tired of my life, And wearied of my wife, It's I will go and drown myself, But you must push me in.
    Sing whack, &c.
If you're tired of your life, And wearied of your wife, If you will go and drown yourself, I’ll soon push you in.
    Sing whack, &c.
Then hand in hand together Till he came to the river brim, The old pian says, I'll drown myself, But you must push me in,
    Sing whack, &c.
The old woman she took a long run For to push the old man in, The old man then he slipt to one side, And the old b—-h went tumbling in,
    Sing whack, &c.
So loudly she did hallo, And so loudly she did bawl, The old man says, I am so blind I can't see you at all:
    Sing whack, &c
​O then she did swim, Till she came to the brim, And the old man got a long stick, And push d her farther in.
    Sing whack, &c.
It's now my song is ended, And I can sing no more, Was he not a curious old man, And she a callous old w–––e.
    Sing whack, &c.
FINIS.
# Paddy's rambles

Paddy's Rambles,
To which is added,
LAWRIE O'BROOM,
The Banks of Clyde,
AND
Donald o' Dundee.
GLASGOW: Published and Sold Wholesale and ⟨Retail⟩ by R. Hutcheson & Co. 10, Saltmarket.
* Paddy's Rambles from Dublin to London
* Lawrie O'Broom's Rambles from Ireland to Scotland
* A Farewell to the Banks of Clyde
* Young Donald o'Dundee
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Paddy's rambles/Paddy's Rambles from Dublin to London

PADDY’S RAMBLES FROM DUBLIN TO LONDON
FROM Dublin to London I came, and that, by my soul, was a blunder, I heard such account of its name, I thought I would see a great wonder; I star’d, as I hope to be sav’d, when I heard them like Irishmen talking; Like Dub in the streets were all pav’d, and the seamen and women were walking. Fal de dal, &c.
They seem’d to be making great fun, when I quickly did ask information; They ⟨laugh’d⟩ all aloud as I run, and they swore that my brogue told my nation, For Ireland say I, with a bull, bad luck to the day I did leave it, For brogue sure I have none at all, if I had I never ⟨perceiv’d⟩ it. Fal de dal, &c.
Aloud they all shouted a bull, and ⟨swore⟩ they did none of them doubt me; I found I should have my hands full, I prepared to lay finely about me, ​I caught one and broke his hard head, he crying, went home to his daddy, Tho’ kill’d every one as they stood, still they cry’d out a bull and a Paddy. Fal de dal, &c.
0! at length I got rid of the throng, for I clear’d them all like a victor, I stood, as I walk’d along, at a paint shop, to look at a picture, Six Irishmen riding on bulls; for the painter, I think it would really Just fit to reward his thick skull, with a wreath of old Irish shilella. Fal de dal, &c.
Och, honest Pat, never mind, no ’casion we have to distinguish, Your comrade Jack Bull is so kind, so fain would he make you his name sake; But we will be brothers and friends, and why should our enemies sunder, United complete all our minds, and united we’ll ⟨cause⟩ men knock under. Fal de dal, &c.
Come fill us a full flowing glass since now we are on the finish; May our happiness all around pass, may our happiness never diminish; ​Good luck to our good King and Queen, victorious may they reign for ever, United complete all their ends, and united we will be for ever. Fal de dal, &c.
# Paddy's rambles/Lawrie O'Broom's Rambles from Ireland to Scotland

LAWRIE O’BROOM’S RAMBLES FROM IRELAND TO SCOTLAND.
THE trade it is bad, now good people I hear; and my name it is Lawrie O’Broom, Sir, My father he died, left me all that he had, t’was a good breeding sow and a loom, Sir.
I lived quite happy a very short space, Till I married a wife, who soon alter’d the case, She blackened my eyes, and spat in my face; It was tight times for Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
I thought to myself this would not long do, my passion no longer could smother; I instantly sold off my loom and my sow, and sent the jade home to her mother.
And then for old Scotland I straightway did steer; To leave that sweet place I once lov’d so dear, With grief in my bosom, was ready to tear The heart out of Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
​I shoulder’d my cudgel and bundle again, my figure being one of the oddest; I did not weel ken the right road frae the wrang, but held to the road that was broadest.
Till at length I arriv’d at Donaghadee, And to my surprise laid me close on the sea, I wish’d for the wings of a swallow to flee; What a tight bird was Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
They hois’d me on board of a tight little smack, amongst a parcel of jovial gay fellows; I rous’d up my heart, and I sang Paddy Whack, as we steer’d o.’er the turbulent billows.
Till at length I got sea-sick, was ready to die, And the meat in my belly was spung’d quite dry Whilst I lay besmear’d like a pig in a stye; For a doctor cryed Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
I bounc’d up on deck, to view Ireland once more, which was a dangerous risk of my neck, Sir. I ran up the mast ladder to view Hibernia’s shore , and then I was far above deck, Sir.
When I found that old Ireland was out of my view, I was forced to come down by the captain and crew, I thought on my wife, my loom, and my sow, But far distant was Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
​At four in the morning we came to Stranraer, when the people were ail fast asleep, Sir, The streets I rambled all up and down, till a centry I chanc’d for to meet, Sir.
He ask’d me my name, trade, and place of abode, I told him I was a weaver just travelling the road; And the name that my father had on me bestow’d, I told him was Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
The Sportsman he took a light peep at my dress, and then he began for to prate, Sir, Saying how does the cropies in Ireland now do, And whether the number got many or few, The d-v-l a cropie nor Ireland I knew, I am a Scotchman, said Lawrie O’broom, Sir.
O he said I was a cropie by the cut of my hair, Which left me in tears for to wander; I instantly tost up his heels in the air, And laid him as flat as a flounder.
Whilst he like a paddock did sprawl on the ground, I ran like a hare in front of a hound, While the hills and the valleys did echo around, with the people crying Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
# Paddy's rambles/A Farewell to the Banks of Clyde

A farewell to the banks of Clyde.
ADIEU, the bonny banks of Clyde, adieu to her that’s young and fair, I must you leave, what may betide, to part with yon my heart is sair.
Upon yon banks aft have I walk’d your turns and windings a' to view, With my sweet lass, I’ve often talk’d, and tread the gowan wet wi’ dew.
O Mary, fairer far to me, than a’ the flow’rs that round me blaw; Thy lovely face methinks I see, my chief companion far awa'.
May truth and virtue lovely stream, for ever on your banks abide, The bursting tear doth fill my een, to leave the bonny banks of Clyde.
Tho’ I to foreign lands must go, fortune’s sliddery track to find,. My tender heart is rent with woe, for love to you that’s left behind.
These rural scenes I leave awhile, I’m bound to march at fortune’s ca’, May ⟨peace⟩ and plenty round you smile, shall be my prayer, when far awa.
# Paddy's rambles/Young Donald o'Dundee

Young Donald o' Dundee.
YOUNG Donald was the blythest lad that e’er made love to me, Whene’er he’s by my heart is glad he looks so gay and free.
While on his pipe he plays so sweet; and in his plaid he ⟨looks⟩ so neat, He charms my heart ⟨whene’er⟩ I meet young Donal’ o’ Dundee, &c.
Whene’er I gang down to yonder grove, young Sandie follows me, And fain he wants to be my love, but that he cannot be.
Tho’ mother fret both soon and late; for me to wed this youth I hate; There’s nane may think to gun young Kate, but Donal’ o’ Dundee.
When last I rang’d the banks of Tay, the ring he show’d to me, And had me name the bridal day, and happy would he be.
⟨I ken⟩ the laddie will prove kind, nae nair my mother will I mind, ⟨Mess⟩ John to me will quickly bind, young Donal’ o’ Dundee, &c.
FINIS.
# Highland laddie (3)/Stand to Your Guns

STAND TO YOUR GUNS.
STAND to your guns my hearts of oak Let not a word on board be spoke, Victory soon will crown the joke, Be silent but be ready :
Ram home your guns and spunge them well, Let us be sure the balls will tell, The cannons roar shall sound their knell, Be staedy, boys, be steady.
Nor yet, nor yet! reserve your fire I do desire: - Fire ! Now the elements do rattle, ​The gods amaz'd behold the battle: A broadside, my boys,
See the blood in purple tide Trickle down her batter'd side Wing'd with fate the bullets fly: Conquer boys or bravely die! Hurl destruction on our foes, She sinks: - Huzza; To the bottom down she goes.
# Highland laddie (3)/The Sodger Laddie

THE SODGER LADDIE.
My sodger laddie is over the sea, and he will bring gold and money to me: And when he comes hame he will make me a lad my blessing gang wi' my sodger laddie.
My doughty laddie is han'some and brave, and can as a sodger and lover behave, True to his country' to love he is ready, there's few to compare wi' my sodger laddie
Shield him ye angels, frae death in alarms, return him wi' laurels to my langing arms Syne frae all care ye'll presently free me, when back to my wishes my sodger ye gie me.
O soon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, as quickly they must, if he get his due; For in noble actions his courage is ready, which makes me delight in my sodger laddie.
# Her blue rollin e'e

Her blue rollin e’e;
which are added,
Wolfe’s lament.
What ails a’ the lasses at me?
Will ye go and marry, Katie?
EDINBURGH: Printed for the Booksellers in Town and Country.
1822.
* Her Blue Rollin' E'e
* Wolfes' Lament
* What Ails the Lasses At Me
* Will You Go and Marry, Katie
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Her blue rollin e'e/Her Blue Rollin' E'e

HER BLUE ROLLIN’ E’E.
My lassie is lovely as May day ablooming. Wi’ gowans and pimroses like green lea, Tho’ sweet is the violet new dawn in the morning, As tender and sweet is her blue rollin’ ee. O say what is whiter than snaw on the mountain, Or what wi the red rose in beauty can vie? Yes, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain, And bonny her face as the red rose can be.
See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild wood, Hedg'd round wi’ sweet brier and green willow tree. lT was yonder, I spent the first days o’ my childhood And first felt the power of a love-rollin’ ee. Though soon frae my hame and my lassie I wander’d, Though-lang I’ve been tossing on fortune’s rough sea Eye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd, Aye dear was the blink o' her blue rollin’ ee. O for the evening, and O' for the moor,
​when down by yon greenwood she promis'd to be, When quick as the summer dew dries on the flower, A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee. Let Art and let Nature display their proud treasure Let Paradise boast o’ what bliss it could gi’e; As high is my bliss and as sweet is my pleasure, In the heart-melting blink o' my lassie's blue e'e.
# Her blue rollin e'e/Wolfes' Lament

WOLFES' LAMENT
When ancient Romans did lament, This hero prov'd with discontent, Well may Britain make its moan. Thy choicest hero, Wolf is slain. Mourn Britain, mourn, Thy choicest hero, Wolfe is 'slain.
Then up the scroggy rocks did climb, As bold as any Roman line.
Led up his men so manfully, Then said James Wolfe we'll fight or die. Mourn Britain, mourn Thy choicest hero Wolf is slain.
When first Montcalm him did behold. He vow’d he was a soldier bold,
​Ee ilke a Briton did advance, And took Quebec in spite of France. Mourn, Britain, mourn, Thy choiest hero, wolfe is slain.
This matchless hero's valour great, Led him abroad, which proved his fate, He like a Briton ne'er would yield But smil'd in Death, in conquer’d field Mourn, Britain mourn, Thy choicest hero, Wolf is slain.
Now his dear mother she is left, Of her dear son the is bereft And these few lines she did inclose, He boldly died for Britain’s cause, Mourn, Britain mourn. Thy choicest hero, Wolfe is slain.
# Her blue rollin e'e/What Ails the Lasses At Me

WHAT AILS THE LASSES AT ME
I am a young bachelor winsome,
A farmer by rank and degree, And few l see gang out ufair handsome, To kirk or to market than me
I've outright, and insight, and credit,
​And frae ony eelift I’m free; I’m weel enough boarded and bedded What a' the laases at me.
My bughts of good store are no scanty My byres are well stocked wi' kye. Oi meal i my girnels is plenty; An' twa or three easenaents forby. An' horse to ride out when they're weary, An' cock with the best they can see, An' then be ca'd dawty and deary, I fairly what ails them at me.
Behind backs, before fouk I've woo'd them. And a' the gates o’t that hen And when they laugh o' my trow'd them, And thought I had won but what then, When I speak of matters they grumble,
Nor are condescending, and froe,
But at my proposals ay stumble, I wonder what ails them at me.
I ve try'd haith highland and lowland Where I a good bargain adbid see, But name o' them and I wod fall to Or say they wad buckle wi' me With looks an' wi' scraps I've address'd them Been with them both modest and free.
​But whatever way I caress'd them There's something still ails them at me.
O, If I ken'd how but to gain them, How fond of the knack wad I be! Or what an address could obtain them, It should be twice welcome to me.
If kissing and clapping wad clense them,
That trade of should drive till I die But however I study to ease them, They've ailful an exception at me
There's wratacks an cripples, an' crawshake, An' the wan dog (illegible text) I ken. No sooner they speak to the wrenches, But they are ta'en far enough hen But when I speak to them that's stately, I find them ay ta'en wi' the gee; An' get the denial right flatly: What thi- (illegible text) can ail them at me.
I have yet but ae offer to mak them, If they wad but mearken to me An' that is arm willing to tab them, If they their consent wad but me Let her that consent write a bill An' get it transmitted to me I hereby engage to fulfil it Tho' cripple, tho' blind she sud be.
# Her blue rollin e'e/Will You Go and Marry, Katie

WILL YOU GO AND MARRY KATIE
Will ye go and marry Katie, Can ye think to tak a man! It's a pity ane she pretty. Should na do the thing they can. You, a charming lovely creature, Wherefore wad ye lie ye'r lane! Beauty's of a facing nature Has a season, and is gane
Therefore while ye're blooming, Katie, Listen to a lozing swain;
Tak a mark by auntie Betty. Once the darling o' the men: She, wi' coy add fickle nature. Trided aff till she's grown auld,
Now she'a left by ilka creature: Let na this o'thee be tauld
But my dear and lovely Katie, This ae thing I hae to tell, I could wuh nae man to get ye, {em}}Save it were my very sol. Tak, me, Katie, at my offer,
​Or be had, and I'll tak you: Were mak nae din about your toches Marry,Katie, then we'll woo.
Many words are seedless, Katie, Ye're a anter, see am I; If ye wad a man should get ye Then I can that want supply; Say then K«tie, say ye'll tak me, As the very male of men, Never after to foraake me, And the priest shall say, Amen.
Then, O! then my charming Katie, When WeVre married what comes then Then sae ither man pan get ye, But ye'll be my very sin Then we'll kiss and clap at leisure, Nor wi’ envy troubled be, If onoe I had my lovely treasure, Let the rest admire and die.
FINIS
# The Flowers of the Forest (1825)/The Flowers of the Forest

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
I've seen the smiling Of Fortune beguiling, I’ve felt all its favours, and found its decay Sweet was its blessing, Kind its caressing, But now ’tis fled,—fled far away.
I’ve seen the forest Adorned the foremost, With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay; See bonny was their blooming, Their scent the air perfuming; But now they are wither’d and weeded away.
I’ve seen the morning, With gold the hills adorning, And loud tempest storming before the mid-day. I’ve seen Tweed’s silver streams Shining in the sunny beams, Grow drumly and dark as they row’d on their way. ​O fickle Fortune! Why this cruel sporting? O why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your smiles can cheer me, Nae mair your frowns can fear me, For the flowers of the forest are wither’d away.