_Pat._ Daft gowk! leave off that silly whindging way; Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day. Hear how I serv'd my lass I love as well As ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel: Last morning I was gay and early out, Upon a dike I lean'd glowring about, I saw my Meg come linkan o'er the lee; I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw na me: For yet the sun was wading thro' the mist, And she was closs upon me ere she wist; Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw Her straight bare legs that whiter were than snaw; Her cockernony snooded up fou sleek, Her haffet-locks hang waving on her cheek; Her cheek sae ruddy, and her een sae clear; And O! her mouth's like ony hinny pear. Neat, neat she was, in bustine waste-coat clean, As she came skiffing o'er the dewy green. Blythsome, I cry'd, My bonny Meg, come here, I ferly wherefore ye're sae soon asteer; But I can guess, ye'er gawn to gather dew: She scour'd awa, and said, _What's that to you?_ Then fare ye well, Meg Dorts, and e'en's ye like, I careless cry'd, and lap in o'er the dike. I trow, when that she saw, within a crack, She came with a right thievless errand back; Misca'd me first,--then bade me hound my dog To wear up three waff ews stray'd on the bog. I leugh, and sae did she; then with great haste I clasp'd my arms about her neck and waste, About her yielding waste, and took a fouth Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth. While hard and fast I held her in my grips, My very saul came lowping to my lips. Sair, sair she flet wi' me 'tween ilka smack; But well I kent she meant nae as she spake. Dear Roger, when your jo puts on her gloom, Do ye sae too, and never fash your thumb. Seem to forsake her, soon she'll change her mood; Gae woo anither, and she'll gang clean wood. SANG II.--_Tune_, Fy gar rub her o'er wi' strae. _Dear_ Roger, _if your_ Jenny _geck, And answer kindness with a slight, Seem unconcern'd at her neglect, For women in a man delight; But them despise who're soon defeat, And with a simple face give way To a repulse;--then be not blate, Push boldly on, and win the day. When maidens, innocently young, Say aften what they never mean, Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, But tent the language of their een: If these agree, and she persist To answer all your love with hate, Seek elsewhere to be better blest, And let her sigh when 'tis too late._