Tuesday, July 17, 2007

The Kintra Lass

In simmer, whan the hay wis mawn
An corn waved green in ilka field,
While claver bluims white ower the lea
An roses blaw in ilka bield!
Blythe Bessie in the milkin shiel,
Says - A'll be wad, come o't whit will:
Oot spake a dame in wrinkelt eild -
O guid advisement comes nae ill.

It's ye hae wooers ane,
An lassie, ye're but young, ye ken,
Than wait a wee, an canny wale
A routhy but, a routhy ben;
Thare's Johnie o the Busky-glen,
Fou is his barn, fou is his byre;
Tak this frae me, ma bonny hen,
It's plenty beets the lover's fire.

For Johnie o the Busky-glen,
I didna care a single flee;
He lous sae weel his craps an kye,
He haes nae love tae spare for me;
But blythe's the blink o Robie's ee,
An weel A wat he lous me dear:
Ae blink o him wadna gie
For Busky-glen an aw his gear.

O thochtless lassie, life's a fecht;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fou-haundit is fechtin best,
A hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend an some will spare,
An willfu fowk maun hae thair will;
Syne as ye brew, ma maiden fair,
Keep mynd that ye maun drink the yill

O gear will buy me rigs o laund,
An gear will buy me sheep an kye;
But the tender hert o leesome love,
The gowd an siller canna buy;
We mey be puir - Robie an A -
Licht is the burden love lays on;
Content an love brings pace an joy
Whit mair hae Queens upon a throne?


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