For a ballad's a thing you expect to find lies in. - Samuel Lover

Sure my love is all crost Like a bud in the frost
And there's no use at all in my going to bed,
For 't is dhrames and not slape that comes into my head!

"That 's eight times to-day that you 've kissed me before."
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,
For there 's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More.

As she sat in the low-backed car
The man at the turn-pike bar
Never asked for the toll
But just rubbed his auld poll
And looked after the low-backed car.