Come under my plaidie (1819)/Come under my plaidie
COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE.
Tune—Johnny Macgill.
Come under my plaidie, the night's gann to fa',
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the sna';
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, 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 down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me for twa.
Gae wa wi' your plaidie; auld Donald, gae 'wa,
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the sna';
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 bonnie,
He's been at Meg's bridal, fu' trig and fu' braw!
O nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu', sae lightly,
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow’s like the snaw.
Dear Marion, let that flee stick fact to the wa'
Your Jack's but a gowk, and has naething ava;
The ha'e on his pack he has now on his back,
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kindly, 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 and a',
Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me ay braw.
It's true I loo Johnnie, he's young and he's bonnie,
But, waes me, I ken he has naething ava
I hae little tocher, ye've made a guide offer,
I'm nae 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 threescore and twa.
She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa',
Whare Johnnie was listening, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed,—his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his sides 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 of fourscore and twa;
The hale of 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 haffet to claw!