  BY HENRY ROBSON. They’ve prest my dear Johnny, Sae sprightly and bonny,— Alack! I shall ne’er mair d’ weel, O: The kidnapping squad, Laid hold of my lad, As he was unmooring the keel, O. O my sweet laddie, My canny keel laddie, Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O; Had he staid on the Tyne, Ere now he’d been mine, But oh! he’s far over the sea, O. Should he fall by commotion, Or sink in the ocean, (May sick tidings ne’er come to the Key, O) I could ne’er mair be glad, For the loss of my lad Wad break my poor heart, and I’d dee, O! O my sweet laddie, &c. But should my dear tar Come safe from the war, What heart-bounding joy wad I feel, O; To the church we wad flee, And married be, And again he shall row in his keel, O. O my sweet laddie, &c. O my sweet laddie, My canny keel laddie, Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O: Tho’ far from the Tyne, I still hope he’ll be mine, And live happy as any can be, O. O my sweet laddie, &c. |
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