Had I The Wyte

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Had I The Wyte She Bade Me
(Tune - Highland Hills)

HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte she bad me;
For she was steward in the house,
And I was fit-man laddie;
And when I wadna' do't again,
A silly cow she ca'd me;
She straik't my head, and clapt my cheeks
And lous'd my breeks and bad me.
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame deny her;
Or in the bed was I to blame,
She bad me lye beside her:
I pat six inches in her wame,
A quarter wadna fly'd her;
For ay the mair I ca'd it hame,
Her ports they grew the wider.

My tartan plaid, when it was dark,
C6uld I refuse to share it;
She lifted up her holland-sark,
And bad me fin' the gair o't:
Or how could I amang the garse,
But gie her hilt and hair o't;
She clasp'd her houghs about my a - - e,
And ay she glowr'd for mair o't.


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