"Our laird has fine houses, and guineas o' gowd He 's youthfu', he 's blooming, and comely to see. The leddies are a' ga'en wud for the wooer, And yet, ilka e'ening, he leaves them for me. Oh, saft in the gloaming, his love he discloses! And saftly, yestreen, as I milked my cow, He swore that my breath it was sweeter than roses, And a' the gait hame he did naething but woo." "Ah, Jenny! the young laird may brag o' his siller, His houses, his lands, and his lordly degree; His speeches for _true love_ may drap sweet as honey, But trust me, dear Jenny, he ne'er lo'ed like _me_. The wooin' o' gentry are fine words o' fashion-- The faster they fa' as the heart is least true; The dumb look o' love 's aft the best proof o' passion; The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo." "Hae na ye roosed my cheeks like the morning? Hae na ye roosed my cherry-red mou'? Hae na ye come ower sea, moor, and mountain? What mair, Johnnie, need ye to woo? Far ye wander'd, I ken, my dear laddie; Now that ye 've found me, there 's nae cause to rue; Wi' health we 'll hae plenty--I 'll never gang gaudie; I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true." She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom, The saft tear o' transport fill'd ilk lover's e'e; The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit, And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree. He clasp'd her, he press'd her, and ca'd her his hinny; And aften he tasted her honey-sweet mou'; And aye, 'tween ilk kiss, she sigh'd to her Johnnie, "Oh, laddie! weel can ye woo." [14] Mr Graham, of Gartmore, an intimate friend of Hector Macneill, composed a song, having a similar burden, the chorus proceeding thus:-- "Then, tell me how to woo thee, love; Oh, tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take, Though ne'er another trow me." This was published by Sir Walter Scott, in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," as a production of the reign of Charles I. LASSIE WI' THE GOWDEN HAIR. Lassie wi' the gowden hair, Silken snood, and face sae fair; Lassie wi' the yellow hair, Thinkna to deceive me. Lassie wi' the gowden hair, Flattering smile, and face sae fair, Fare ye weel! for never mair Johnnie will believe ye. Oh, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn; Oh, no! Mary Bawn, ye 'll nae mair deceive me.