http://www.box.net/shared/kb2utan4kk
O WOES my heart when I think on
These happy days of ours,
When C -- ng -- n and Sir John
They hunted on the moors.
And Captain M -- ll, that brave youth,
He was with them also;
But woes my heart, he's laid in clay,
To where all flesh must go.
M -- g -- y now has ta'en the moors,
A nobleman, you know;
Since honour has call'd him away,
He chearfully did go;
And left the pleasures at Muirkirk,
In putting-time the fun,
A better sportsman, as I hear,
Scarce ever bore a gun.
But, O, if wars would turn to peace,
The Colonel would return,
And every lad enjoy his lass,
Kind hearts would cease to mourn.
So we shall hope 'gainst woodcock time
To see his Honour yet,
To fright the poachers off the moor,
That have no right to shoot.
One W -- a from Tarbolton came,
With him I'm not acquaint;
The birds were swear to catch for him,
Although they were not scant.
Some say he is a gentleman,
At least a parson's son,
But Fortune did not favour him,
Three times he brake his gun.
Now I've rejoic'd in putting-time
These twenty years and more,
But as I'm now on the decline,
It makes my heart full sore.
There's few that's great for me enquire,
That is in state of wealth,
But two young gentlemen from Ayr,
Who caus'd me drink their health.
I thank'd them kindly for their glass,
They gave it with good will,
For they were cheerful in the house,
And hearty on the hill.
They sent the rum like water round,
To shew a generous part;
There's none came to the moor this year
That had as free a heart.
Long may they live, and happy be,
And ay to mirth incline,
And I be spar'd I hope to see
Them both 'gainst putting-time.
I hope they will call at my door,
As they expect some fun,
And I'll repeat these lines to them, How W -- a brake his gun.
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