Expect me o' your partie,
If on a beastie I can speel,
Or hurl in a cartie.

Yours,

Robert Burns.
Mauchlin, Monday night, 10 o'clock.




Song--Will Ye Go To The Indies, My Mary?

Tune--"Will ye go to the Ewe-Bughts, Marion."


Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave auld Scotia's shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across th' Atlantic roar?

O sweet grows the lime and the orange,
And the apple on the pine;
But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
And sae may the Heavens forget me,