“Na, na,” quo’ the pawky auld wife, “I trow
        You’ll no fash your head wi’ a youthfu’ gilly,
        As wild and as skeig as a muirland filly: 
     Black Madge is far better and fitter for you.” 
     He hem’d and he haw’d, and he drew in his mouth,
       And he squeezed the blue bannet his twa hands between;
     For a wooer that comes when the sun’s i’ the south
       Is mair landward than wooers that come at e’en.

     “Black Madge is sae carefu’”—­“What’s that to me?”
        “She’s sober and cydent, has sense in her noodle;
        She’s douce and respeckit”—­“I carena a bodle: 
     Love winna be guided, and fancy’s free.” 
     Madge toss’d back her head wi’ a saucy slight,
       And Nanny, loud laughing, ran out to the green;
     For a wooer that comes when the sun shines bright
       Is no like a wooer that comes at e’en.

     Then away flung the laird, and loud mutter’d he,
        “A’ the daughters of Eve, between Orkney and Tweed O! 
        Black or fair, young or auld, dame or damsel or widow,
     May gang in their pride to the de’il for me!”
     But the auld gudewife, and her mays sae tight,
       Cared little for a’ his stour banning, I ween;
     For a wooer that comes in braid daylight
       Is no like a wooer that comes at e’en.

     FY, LET US A’ TO THE WEDDING

     (An Auld Sang, New Buskit)

     Fy, let us a’ to the wedding,
        For they will be lilting there;
       For Jock’s to be married to Maggy,
     The lass wi’ the gowden hair.

     And there will be jibing and jeering,
       And glancing of bonny dark een,
     Loud laughing and smooth-gabbit speering
       O’ questions baith pawky and keen.

     And there will be Bessy the beauty,
       Wha raises her cockup sae hie,
     And giggles at preachings and duty,—­
       Guid grant that she gang na’ ajee!

     And there will be auld Geordie Taunner,
       Wha coft a young wife wi’ his gowd;
     She’ll flaunt wi’ a silk gown upon her,
       But wow! he looks dowie and cow’d.

     And brown Tibbey Fouler the Heiress
       Will perk at the tap o’ the ha’,
     Encircled wi’ suitors, wha’s care is
       To catch up her gloves when they fa’,—­

     Repeat a’ her jokes as they’re cleckit,
       And haver and glower in her face,
     When tocherless mays are negleckit,—­
       A crying and scandalous case.

     And Mysie, wha’s clavering aunty
       Wud match her wi’ Laurie the Laird,
     And learns the young fule to be vaunty,
       But neither to spin nor to caird.

     And Andrew, wha’s granny is yearning
      To see him a clerical blade,
     Was sent to the college for learning,
      And cam’ back a coof as he gaed.