|Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me! The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me! He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en, And vow'd for my love he was dying; I said he might die when he liked for Jean, The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, The Lord forgie me for lying! A weel-stockèd mailen--himsel for the laird-- And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: I never loot on that I ken'd it, or cared, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers. But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less-- The deil tak his taste to gae near her! He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her could bear her, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. But a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there! I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock. But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, Lest neebors might say I was saucy; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, And vow'd I was his dear lassie. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover'd her hearin', And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet, But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin', But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'! He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: So e'en to preserve the poor body his life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. ----R. Burns [Illustration: 0060] JOHN BARLEYCORN [Illustration: 8061] |There was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high; And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head; And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerfu' spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surprised them all. The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong, His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober autumn entered mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore;