Green sleeves and tartan ties
Mark my true love where she lies;
I'll be at her or she rise,
My fiddle and I thegither,-
Be it by the chrystal burn,
Be it by the mill-white thorn,
I shall rouse her in the morn,
My fiddle and I thegither.-
John Cope
Parcel O' Rogues
Peck O Maut
The Ranting Dog
On a Bank Of Flowers
A Pint o Wine
The Battle Of Sherra-moor
Carl An The King Come
Blythe Was She
John Cope
Raving Winds
The Deidly Wars Are Past And Gane
The Ploughman
When Wild War's Deadly Blast
Five Carlins
Jamie, Come Try Me
O Dear Minny, What Shall I do ?
Dainty Davie
Am Strande
Where Helen Lies