Last May, a braw wooer cam doun 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 diein,
     I said, he might die when he liked for Jean—­
     The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein;
     The Lord forgie me for liein!

     A weel-stocked mailen, himsel’ for the laird,
     And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers;
     I never loot on that I kenn’d it, or car’d;
     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 Gate-slack 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 petted wi’ care,
     I gaed to the tryst o’ Dalgarnock;
     But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there,
     I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock, a warlock,
     I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock.

     But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,
     Lest neibours 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 schachl’t feet,
     But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
     But heavens! how he fell a swearin.

     He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
     Or else I wad kill him wi’ sorrow;
     So e’en to preserve the poor body in life,
     I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow;
     I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

This Is No My Ain Lassie

     Tune—­“This is no my house.”

     Chorus—­This is no my ain lassie,
     Fair tho, the lassie be;
     Weel ken I my ain lassie,
     Kind love is in her e’re.

     I see a form, I see a face,
     Ye weel may wi’ the fairest place;
     It wants, to me, the witching grace,
     The kind love that’s in her e’e. 
     This is no my ain, &c.

     She’s bonie, blooming, straight, and tall,
     And lang has had my heart in thrall;
     And aye it charms my very saul,
     The kind love that’s in her e’e. 
     This is no my ain, &c.

     A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
     To steal a blink, by a’ unseen;
     But gleg as light are lover’s een,
     When kind love is in her e’e. 
     This is no my ain, &c.

     It may escape the courtly sparks,
     It may escape the learned clerks;
     But well the watching lover marks
     The kind love that’s in her eye. 
     This is no my ain, &c.