Molly O'Rigge / Sit Ye Awhile and Tipple a Bit. The Delights of Wine. Caledonia! Native Land! The Warrior Bard. Beadle of the Parish.

Sit ye awhile and tipple a bit. The Delights of Wine. Caledonia! Native Land! The Warrior Bard. Beadle of the Parish.

Glasgow—Printed for the Booksellers.


At Cork lived Miss Molly O'Rigge, With a nose like the snout of a pig, Long carroty locks, And ten pounds in the stocks, Was the fortune of Molly O'Rigge, What a beautiful Molly O'Rigge. Tom Treacle lov'd Moll O'Rigge, A pert little tea-dealing prig, Says he, Molly my dove, My heart is brim full of love. Says she, Grocer, I don't care a fig, What a hard hearted Molly O'Rigge. I hate men, quoth Molly O'Rigge. In love they're a mere whirligig: But Cornelius O'Whack, Gave her heart such a smack, That to church they both caper'd a jig, What a false-hearted Molly O'Rigge. Says the tea-dealer, Molly O'Rigge, My heart is with jealousy big, Says she, hold your clack, I'm now Mrs O'Whack I'm no longer Molly O'Rigge, Good bye, Mistress Molly O'Rigge.

We're gaily yet, and we're gaily yet, And we're no yery fou but we're gaily yet, Then sit ye awhile and tipple a bit, For we're no very fou but we're gaily yet. There was a lad, and they ca'd him Dick, He gae me a kiss, and I bit his lip, And down in the garden he shew'd me a trick And we're no very fou, but we're gaily yet. And we're gaily yet, &c. There were three lads, and they were clad, There were three lasses, and them they had, Three trees in the orchard are newly sprung, And we's a get geer enough, we're but young. And we're gaily yet, &c. Then up wi't Ailey, Ailey, Up wi't Aily now, Then up wi't Ailey, quo' kimmer, We's a get roaring fou. One was kiss'd in the barn, Another was kiss'd on the green, And the t'other behind the pease-stack, Till the mow flew up in her e'en. Then up wi't Ailey, &c. Now fye John Thomson, rin, Gin ever ye ran in your life, De'il get ye, but hye, my dear Jock, There's a man got to bed with your wife. Then up wi't Ailey &c. Then away John Thomson ran, And I true he ran with speed, But, before he had run his length, The false loon had done the deed. Then up wi't Ailey, &c. We're gaily yet, and we're gaily yet, And we're no very fou but we're gaily yet Then sit ye a-while and tipple a bit, For we're no very fu' but we're gaily yet.