OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Musical garland/I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain

I'll soon hae a wife o‘ my ain.
Frae Clyde to the banks o’ sweet Earn, I’ve travel’d fu’ mony lang mile, But thoughts o' my dearest sweet Annie, the wearisome hours did beguile: The happy wae night that we parted, she vow’d she wou’d constant remain; Thy heart strings a’ dirl’d wi' fondness! I kiss’d, and I kiss’d her again.
Tis no cause her cheeks are like roses, nor yet for her dark rollin’ e’e, Tis no for her sweet comely features, these charms are naething to me. The storms o’ life may soon blast them, or sickness make them fade away; But virtue when fix’d in the bosom, will flourish, and never decay.
Nae langer I’ll spend a’ my siller, nae langer I’ll now ly my lane; Nae langer I'll hunt after hizzies, I’ll soon ha’e a wife o’ my ain. ⟨For⟩ mony wild foot I ha’e wander’d, and mony lang night spent in vain, Wi' drinkin’ and dancin’, and courtin’,
​Her mither's ay flytin' and roarin', I rede you tak‘ tent o‘ that chiel; He'll no be that canny to live wi‘, he'll ne'er be like douse, Geordy Steel, He's courted wi' o'er mony lasses, to slight them he thinks it gude fun; He'll mak' but a sober ha'f-marrow, ye'll best rue before ye be bound.
Tho' Geordy ba laird of a house, and brags o' his kye and his pelf, Tho' warld's gear I be right seant o', a fig for t, as lang's I've my health: If unee I were kippel'd wi' Annie, she'll seldom ha'e cause to complain; We'll jog on through life ay right eanny, when I get a wife o' my ain.
But if that my Annie prove faithless, And marry before I return; I'll no, like a cuiff, greet about her, nor yet for ae minute will mourn; Awa' straight to some ither beauty, without loss o' time I will hie; And show to the lasses I'm careless, unless they're as willin' as I.
# The Book of Scottish Song/A Wife o' my ain

A Wife o' my ain.
[Robert Whitley of Biggar in Lanarkshire.]
Frae Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn I've travell'd fu' mony a mile; But thoughts o' my dearest lass Ailie The wearisome hours did beguile. The happy wae night that we parted, She vow'd she wad constant remain: My heart-strings a' dirl'd wi' fondness; I kiss'd and I kiss'd her again.
'Tis not that her cheeks are like roses, Nor yet for her dark-rowing e'e; 'Tis not for her sweet comely features; These charms are a' naething to me. The storms o' this life may soon blast them, Or sickness may snatch them away, But virtue, when fix'd in the bosom, Will flourish and never decay.
Nae langer I'll spend a' my siller: Nae langer I'll now lie my lane; Nae langer I'll hunt after lasses; I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain. For mony a wild foot have I wander'd, An' mony a night spent in vain, Wi' drinking, and dancing, and courting: But I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain.
Her mother's aye roaring and flyting: "I rede ye, tak' tent o' that chiel; He'll no be that canny to leeve wi'; He'll ne'er be like douce Geordie Steele. He's courtit far ower mony lasses; To slight them he thinks it gude fun; He'll mak' but a sober half-marrow; Ye'd best rue before ye be bun'."
Though Geordie be laird o' a housie, And brags o' his kye and his pelf, And warld's gear I be richt scant o'; A fig for't as lang's I've my health; ​If ance I were kippled wi' Ailie, She'll seldom ha'e cause to complain; We'll jog on through life aye right cannie, When I get a wife o' my ain.
But if that my Ailie prove faithless, And marry before I return, I'll ne'er, like a coof, greet about her, Nor yet for ae minute I'll mourn. Awa' straight to some other beauty Without loss o' time I will hie, And shaw to the lasses I'm careless, Unless they're as willing as I.
# Sprig of shilelah/I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain

I’LL SOON HAE A WIFE O‘ MY AIN.
FRAE Clyde to the banks of sweet Earn, I've travell’d fu’ mony lang mile, ​But thoughts o’ my dearest lass Annie, The wearisome hours did beguile. The happy, wae night that we parted, She vow’d she would constant remain; My heart-strings a’ dirl’d wi’ fondness! I kiss, and I kiss’d her again.
‘Tis no cause her cheeks are like roses, Nor yet for her dark rollin’ e’e, Tis no for her sweet comely features. These charms are naething to me. The storms of life may soon blast them, Or sickness make them fade away, But virtue, when fix’d in the bosom, Will flourish, and never decay.
Nae langer I’ll spend a’ my siller, Nae langer I’ll now ly my lane; Nae langer I’ll hunt'after hizzies, I’ll soon ha'e a wife o’ my ain. For mony wild foot I ha’e wander’d And mony lang night spent in vain, Wi’ drinkin’ and dancin’, and courtin’, But I’ll soon hae a wife o’ my ain.
Her mither’s ay flytiu’, and roarin’, " I red you tak tent o’ that chiel; He’ll no be that canny to live wi’ He’ll ne’er be like douse Geordy Steel. He's courted wi'o’er mony lasses; To slight them he thinks it gude fun; ​He’ll mak’ but a sober ha'f-marrow. Ye’ll best rue before you be bound."
Tho' Geordy be laird of a house, And brags o’ his kye and his pelf, Tho’ warld’s gear I be right scant o', A fig for’t as lang’s I’ve my health: It ance I l were kippi'd wi’ Annie, She’ll seldom ha’e cause to complain, We’ll jog on through life ay right canny, When I get a wife o' my ain.
But if that my Annie prove faithless, And marry before I return, I‘ll no like a cuif greet about her, Not yet for ae minute will mourn, Awa‘ straight to some ither beauty, Without loss of time I will hie, And shew to the lasses I‘m careless, Unless they're as willin' as I.
# Sailor's courtship/I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain

A WIFE O' MY AIN.
Frae Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn, I've travel'd fu' mony lang mile, But thoughts o' my dearest lass Annie, The wearisome hours did beguile: The happy wae night that we parted, She vow'd she would constant remain My heart-strings a' dirl'd wi' fondness, I kiss'd and kiss'd her again.
​Tis no 'cause her cheeks are like roses, Nor yet for her dark rollin' e'e; 'Tis no for her sweet comely features, These charms are naething to me, The storms o' life may soon blast them, Or sickness make them fade away; But virtue, when fix'd in the bosom, Will flourish and never decay.
Nae langer I'll spend a' my siller, Nae langer I'll now lie my lane; Nae langer I'll hunt after hizzies, I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain For mony wild foot I ha'e wander'd, And mony lang night spent in vain, Wi' drinkin' an' dancin', and courtin', But I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain.
Her mither's ay flytin' and roarin', I rede you take tent o' that chiel; He'll no be that canny to live wi', He'll ne'er be like douse Geordy Steel He's courted wi' o'er mony lasses, To slight them he thinks it gude fun, He'll mak' but a sober ha'f-marrow, Ye'll best rue before ye be bosnd.
​Tho' Geordy be laird o' a housie, And brags o' his kye and his pelf, Tho' warld's gear I be right scant o', A fig for't, as lang's I've my heath: If ance I were kippel'd wi' Annie, She'll seldom ha'e cause to complain, We'll jog on thro' life aye right canny, When I a wife get o' my ain.
But if that my Annie prove faithless, And marry before I return; I'll no, like a cuiff, greet about her, Nor yet for ae minute will mourn; Awa straught to some ither beauty, Without loss o' time I will hie, And show to the lasses I'm careless, Unless they're as willin' as I.
# Sailor's courtship (1822)/I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain

A WIFE OF MY AIN.
Frae Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn, I ve travel'd fu' mon lang mile. But thoughts of my dearest lass Annie, th wearisome hours did beguile: The happy wae night that we parted, she vow'd she wou'd constant remain; My heart-strings a' dirl'd wi' fondness! I kiss'd and kiss’d her again.
​Tis no 'cause her cheeks are like roses, nor yet for her dark rollin' e'e, 'Tis no for her sweet comely features, these charms are naething to me The storms o life may soon blast them, or sickness make them fade away; But virtue, when fix'd in the bosom, will flourish, and never decay.
Nae langer I'll spend a' my sister, nae langer I'll now ly my land, Nae langer I'll hunt after hizzies, I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain For mony wild foot I ha'e wander'd, and mony lang night spent in vain, Wi' drinkin' and dancin', and courtin', but I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain.
Her mither's ay flytin' and roarin', I rede you tak' tent o' that chiel; He'll no be that canny to live wi', he'll ne'er be like douse Geordy Steel, He's courted wi' o'er mony lasses, to slight them he thinks it gude fun; He'll mak' but a sober ha'f-marrow, ye'll best rue before ye be bound.
​Tho' Geordy be laird of a housie, and brags o' his kye and his pelf, Tho' warld's gear I be right scant o', a fig for't, as lang's I've my heath: If ance I were kippel'd wi' Annie, she'll, seldom ha'e cause to complain: We'll jog on thro' life ay right canny, when I a wife get o' my ain.
But if that my Annie prove faithless, and marry before I return; I'll no, like a cuiff, greet about her, nor vet for ae minute wi'l mourn; Awa' straught to some ther beauty, without loss o' time I will hie And show to the lasses I'm careless, unless is they're as willin' as I
# I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain

"Frae Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn"
* "I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain", in Sprig of shilelah (1817), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain", in Sailor's courtship (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain", in Sailor's courtship (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain", in Musical garland (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "A Wife o' my ain", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# Musical garland/Fairest maid on Devon banks

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks.
Fairest maid on Devon Banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou were wont to do?
Full thou know'st I love thee dear: Could'st thou to malice lend an ear? O did not love exclaim, "⟨Forbear⟩! “Nor use a faithful lover so?"
Fairest maid on Devon Banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
​Then come, thou fairest of the fair? Those wantn smiles, O let me share! And, by thy bounteous self I sware, No love but thine my heart shall know.
# Fairest maid on Devon banks

* "Fairest maid on Devon banks", in Musical garland (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "Fairest maid on Devon banks", in Burns' Popular Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Paisley
* "Fairest maid on Devon", in Seven excellent new songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "Full well thou know'st", in The Poetical Works of Robert Burns (1887), edited by Alexander Smith
# Collection of popular songs (1)

Dated from the Scottish Book Trade Index.
A Collection of
POPULAR SONGS,
The Sailor’s courtship.
The Drowned Mariner.
and
Had I a heart.
Falkirk—Printed by R. Taylor.
* The sailor's courtship
* The Drowned Mariner
* Had I a heart
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
# Maggy Lauder

* "Maggy Lauther", in Musical garland (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "Maggy Lauder", in Four Comic Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "Maggy Lauder", in Maggy Lauder (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Maggy Lauder", in The Woodpecker (1825), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Maggie Lauder", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# Musical garland/Maggy Lauther

Maggy Lauther.
Wha wou'dna be in love Wi‘ bonny Maggy Lauther, A piper met her gaun through Fife, He spier'd what was't they ca‘d her; Right scornfully she answered him, Begone you hallan shaker, Jog on your gate you blather-skate. My name is Maggy Lauther.
Maggy quo' he now by my bags, I'm fidging fain to see thee, Sit down by me my bonny bird, Indeed I winna steer thee; For I'm a piper to my trade, My name is Rob the Ranter, The lasses loup as they were daft, When I blaw up my chanter.
Piper quo' Meg hae ye your bags, Or is your drone’s in order, Gif ye be Rob we've heard of you, Live ye upo' the border. The kintra a‘ baith far and near, Has heard of Rob the Ranter, I'll shake my foot wi‘ right good will, Gin ye blaw up your chanter.
​Then to his bags he flew wi‘ speed' And round his drone he twisted, Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green, For brawly could she frisk it. Well done quo' he,—play up quo' she, We‘ll bob‘d quo' Rob the Ranter, ‘Tis worth my while to play quo he, When I get sic a dancer.
Well hae you play'd your part quo' Meg, Your cheeks are like the crimson, There's nane in Scotland play like you, Since we lost Habbie Simson, I've lived in Fife baith maid and wife, These ten years and a quarter, When ye came there to Amst'er fair, Speer ye for Maggy Lauther.
Then Rob he rous'd and took the road, And round all Fife he ranted, And play'd a spring thro’ Siler-dykes, As merry Meg he wanted: ⟨And⟩ as he enter'd Amst‘er town, His drone it sounded louder, ⟨His⟩ bags he blew till the chanter flew, No pipes were ever prouder.
⟨When⟩ Meg came gigling to the door, And saw her barnie’s father, ⟨O⟩ mind ye not, ye danced wi’ me, My bonnie Maggy Lauther. ⟨Which⟩ makes me rue that day sinsyne, That ere I heard your chanter, ⟨But⟩ now I hope you‘ll marry me, My bonny Rob the Ranter.
​For when I danc‘d, then ye advanc'd And ye promised not to steer me, Wae to the day I heard you play, It makes the country jeer me. But since that ye will comfort gi'e, I’m glad ye've come to see me, And from the scandal of the jigg, In reality you will free me.
Fiddlers’ wives and gamesters’ drink Is free to all who choose them, But if you'll be a piper's wife, I'll gaurd you in my bosom. And while I live to blaw a blast, You'se never be a wanter; Since you're sae free to marry me, You're bonny Rob the Ranter.
# Selections from the American Poets/The Wind-Flower

Layout 2
THE WIND-FLOWER.
# Selections from the American Poets/The Tree

Layout 2
THE TREE.
# Selections from the American Poets/To the Canary Bird

Layout 2
TO THE CANARY BIRD.
# The beggar girl/Roslin Castle

ROSLIN CASTLE,
'TWAS in that season of the year, When all things gay and sweet appear, That Colm with the morning ray, Arose and sung his rural lay. Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung; The hills and dales with Nanny rung: While Roslin castle heard the swain, And echo’d back the cheerful strain.
Awake, sweet muse, the breathing spring With rapture warms; awake, and sing; Awake, and join the vocal throng, And hail the morning with a song. To Nanny raise the cheerful lay, O bid her haste and come away; In sweetest smiles herself adorn, And add new graces to the morn.
​O hark, my love! on ev'ry spray, Each feather’d warbler tunes his lay; ’Tis beauty fires the ravish d throng, And love inspires the melting song. Then let my ravish'd notes arise, For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes; And love my rising bosom warms, And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love, thy Colin's lay With rapture calls. Oh! come away; Come, while the muse this-wreath shall twine Around that modest brow of thine; O hither haste, and with thee bring That beauty, blooming like the spring; Those graces that divinely shine, And charm this ravish'd heart of mine.
# Selections from the American Poets/To the River Ogeechee

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TO THE RIVER OCEECHEE.
# Selections from the American Poets/The Soldier's Visit to His Family

Layout 2
THE SOLDIER'S VISIT TO HIS FAMILY.
# The beggar girl/The Shepherd's Holiday

THE SHEPHERD’S HOLIDAY.
AS I went forth one morning, the fields and meadows so fresh and gay, Flora the spangling beams adorning, early by the break of day.
I went to pluck my love sweet posies. the whitest blossom from the field, Down by the banks of pinks end roses, there sat Clymenia most mild.
Ye gentle Gods of silent slumber, caus’d her youthful eyes to sleep, Until the watchful shepherd call’d her,
# The beggar girl/The Weaver and the Tailor

THE WEAVER and THE TAILOR.
As I was a-walking down by yon shady grove, I heard a couple talking, it was concerning love, The young man being a weaver, the maid she prov d shy; And he knew full well by her discourse, she lov’d a tailor boy.
My dear, for to maintain you, I'd make my shuttle fly; I’ll wear my fngers to the bone, new fashions for to buy. ​I’ll buy you silks and satins, and all things you do choose, I’ll buy you all new fashions that you read of in the news.
O how can you maintain me, and you a journey man; How can you maintain me, when you haven't a loom? With your lee and your rubbing bone, your knife instead of sheers: But I'll go wed the taylor boy, that needs neither reed nor gear.
If you do wed the taylor lad, You’d have to take out the dung; You'd have to dig the potatoes, for work he can do none: You’ll have to carry in the peats in a basket or a creel, While the tailor he sits on his beach, threading a bar of steel.
Ho'd your tongue of my tailor boy, he’ll not do so to me; For when that he does go abroad, I'll take my liberty; And I will go a gossiping, in all places thro’ the town: And I will please my taylor boy, at noon, when he comes home.
When your tailor boy does come home, He'll clip off both your ears; He’ll beat you with his lappiag board, with his knife instead of sheers; ​He will chide you for going idle, the length of the whole day; And an iron goose give you to pluck, in end of drinking tea.
Ho'd your tongue of ny taylor boy, He'll not do so to me; For Adam was a taylor when the world began so free; For Adam he made aprons out of the leaves so fine; So ever since the world began The tailor trade doth shine.
But if you saw your taylor lad, when he sits all alone, You would take him for an ornament, for legs you can see none: Like a frog upon a beating stone, he sits the live long day, While the Weaver he goes neat and trim, amongst the ladies gay.
# The beggar girl/The Modern Beau

THE MODERN BEAU.
MY daddy is dead and has left me some money, I’ll dress very fine and look very fancy I'll buy a fine coach with fine horses to carry me. Who knows then but some young lady will marry me. With my puff em, strut em, stride em, Walk em, run em, ride em tol
With my short coat to ride and my breeches of leather, I look like a Cockney now cut out of feather, ​Then I mount on my pad that so swift’y does carry me. And I nod at I pass to my Lord and Sir Harry. With my puff em, &c.
I’ put on fine clothes, and go to the ball Sir, Then pull out my glass and squint at them all, Sir, To be blind is the fashion, so I’ll be blind too, Sir. And if you peep at me, why then I’ll squint at you, Sir With my puff em, &c.
As I strut round the room, I stare in their faces, Then pall down my ruffles all cover'd with laces; The ladies all giggle while their hearts are a thumping, What a sweet fellow’s that? ——oh, young Squire Lumpkin With his puff em, &c.
I walk out of the room and sometimes I stay in it, As us great folks can’t make up our minds in a minute; We sit down to cards and play at bonswaber We hand round the wine and drink haber naber, With our puff em; &c,
We set round the wine till we’re as drunk as buffers, Then we knock down the candle, table and snuffers; The waiter comes in, we put him in the fire, And then stumble home all cover’d with mire.
# The beggar girl/Hap me with thy Petticoat

Hap me with thy Petticoat.
O Bell thy looks have kill'd my heart, I pass the day in pain; When night returns, I feel the smart, and wish for thee in vain. ​I’m starving cold, whilst thou art warm; have pity and incline, And grant me for a hap that charming petticoat ot thine.
My ravish'd fancy, in amaze, still wanders o‘er thy charms; Delusive dreams, ten thousand ways, present thee to my arms, Then waking think what I endure; while cruel you decline Those pleasures, which can only cure this panting breast of mine.
I faint, I fail, I wildly rove, because you still deny The just reward that's due to love, and let true passion die. Oh, turn, and let compassion seize that lovely breast of thine: Thy petticoat would give me ease, if thou and it were mine.
Sure Heav'n has fitted for delight that beauteous form of thine, And thour't too good its laws to slight; by hind'ring the design, May all the powers of love agree, at length to make thee mine; Or loose my chains, and set me free from every charm of thine.
FINIS.
# The beggar girl

The Beggar Girl.
To which are added,
Roslin Castle.
The Weaver and the Tailor.
The Modern Beau.
Hap me with thy Petticoat.
Stirling, Printed by M. Randall.
* The Beggar Girl
* The Shepherd's Holiday
* Roslin Castle
* The Weaver and the Tailor
* The Modern Beau
* Hap me with thy Petticoat
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
# Tibby Fowler (1)

TIBBY FOWLER.
To which are added,
The Fumbler’s rant.
The Jolly Sailor.
Roslin Castle.
EDINBURGH: Printed for the Booksellers.
1824.
* Tibby Fowler
* The fumbler's rant
* The jolly sailor
* Roslin Castle
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
# Musical garland/Roslin castle

Roslin Castle.
‘Twas in the season of the year, When all things gay and sweet appear; ⟨That⟩ Collin, with the morning ray, ⟨Arose⟩ and sung his rural lay; ⟨Of⟩ Nanny's charms the shepherd sung, ⟨While⟩ Roslin Castle heard the swain, ⟨And⟩ echo'd back the chearful strain.
Awake sweet muse the breathing spring, ⟨With⟩ raptures warm, awake and sing, ⟨Awake⟩ and join the vocal throng, ⟨And⟩ hail the morning with a song; ⟨To⟩ Nanny raise the cheerful lay, ⟨O⟩ bid her haste and come away; ⟨In⟩ sweetest smiles herself adorn, ⟨And⟩ add new graces to the morn.
​O hark, my love, on ev'ry spray; Each feather'd warbler tunes lay; ’Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng, And love inspires the melting song, Then let my ravished notes arise, For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes, And love my rising bosom warms, And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love, thy Colin's lay, With raptures call, O come away, Come, while the muse this wreathe shall twine, Around that modest brow of thine. O hither haste and with thee bring, That beauty blooming like the spring, Those graces that divinely shine, And charm this ravished heart of mine.
# Said a Smile to a Tear (n.d., Stirling)/Roslin Castle

ROSLIN CASTLE.
’Twas in that season of the year, When all things gay and sweet appear, That Colin, with the morning ray, Arose and sijng his rural lay. Of Nannie’s charms the shepherd sung, The hills and dales with Nannie rung; While Roslin castle beard the swain, And echoed back the cheerful strain.
Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring With rapture warms, awake and sing!
​Awake and join the vocal throng, Who hail the morning with a song: To Nannie raise the cheerful lay; O! bid her haste and come away; In sweetest smiles herself adorn, And add new graces to the morn! O hark, my love! on ev’ry spray, Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
‘Tis beauty fires the ravish’d throng, And love inspires the melting song: Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie’s eyes, And love my rising bosom warms, And fills, my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love! thy Colin’s lay With rapture calls, O come away! Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine Around that modest brow of thine. O! hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring, Those graces that divinely shine, And charm this ravish’d breast of mine.