They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
But three short years will soon wheel roun',
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam'
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam!
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam,
WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
To sell her poor Jennie for siller an' lan'!
Bad luck on the penny, &c.
He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;
He's doylt and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen.
O dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man'
He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers,
I never can please him, do a' that I can;
He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows;
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man!
My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity;
I'll do my endeavor to follow her plan:
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.
TUNE-"Balinamona Ora."
AWA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms;
O gie me the lass that has acres o'charms,
O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher-the nice yelow guineas for me.
Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows;
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes,
Then hey, &c.
And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest! But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest, Then hey, &c.
AIR "O bonie lass, will you lie in a barrack?"
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller,
The Miller was strappan, the Miller was ruddy!
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The laird was a widdiefu' bleerit knurl;
She's left the guid fellow, and taen the churl.
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear chained bridle
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing;
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen!
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the war
O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty,
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,
My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.
I's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree,
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee;
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,
He canna hae luve to spare for me.
Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny,
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin’,
Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree;
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.
THERE'S auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows, and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine.
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
But oh! she's an heiress auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard:
A wooer like me mauna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
O had she but been of lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me;
O, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express.
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