Divider from 'Come under my Plaidie' an undated chapbook printed in Edinburgh
COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE.
Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa', Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw; Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, There's room in't, dear lassis, believe me for twa.
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw; Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, fer twa.
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, auld Donald, gae 'wa, I fear na the cauld blast, the drift nor the snaw; Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, I'll no sit beside ye; Ye might be my gutcher—auld Donald gae 'wa.
I'm gaun to meet Johnnie, he's young and he's bonny; He's been at Meg's bridal; fu' trig and fu' braw; O nane dances sae lightly, sue gracefu', sae tightly, His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw.
Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa', Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava; The hale o' his pack he has now on his back; He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kin'ly, I'll busk ye ay finely; To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw; A bien house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in, And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.
My father ay tauld me, my mither an' a', Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me ay braw; It's true I loe Jonnie, he's young and he's bonnie, But waes me, I ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher, ye've made a gude offer; I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but sma'! Sae gie me your plaidie, I'll creep in beside ye, I thought ye'd been aulder than three-score and twa!
She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa', Whar Johnnis was list'ning, and heard her tell a'; The day was appointed! his proud heart it dunted, And strack 'gainst his heart as if bursting in twa.
He wander'd hame wearie, the night it was drearie, And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw; The howlet was screamin', while Johnnie cried, Women Wad marry auld Nick if he'd keep them ay braw.
O the deil's in the lasses! they gang now sae braw, They'll lie down wi' auld men o' four-score and twa; The hale o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage; Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw.
Auld dotards be wary! tak tent wha ye marry, Young wives wi' their coaches they'll whup and they'll ca', Till they meet wi' some Johnnie that's youthfu' and bonnie, And they'll gie ye a horn on ilk haffit to claw.
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