5
Tis no 'cause her cheeks are like roses,
Nor yet for her dark rollin' e'e;
'Tis no for her sweet comely features,
These charms are naething to me,
The storms o' life may soon blast them,
Or sickness make them fade away;
But virtue, when fix'd in the bosom,
Will flourish and never decay.
Nae langer I'll spend a' my siller,
Nae langer I'll now lie my lane;
Nae langer I'll hunt after hizzies,
I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain
For mony wild foot I ha'e wander'd,
And mony lang night spent in vain,
Wi' drinkin' an' dancin', and courtin',
But I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain.
———
Her mither's ay flytin' and roarin',
I rede you take tent o' that chiel;
He'll no be that canny to live wi',
He'll ne'er be like douse Geordy Steel
He's courted wi' o'er mony lasses,
To slight them he thinks it gude fun,
He'll mak' but a sober ha'f-marrow,
Ye'll best rue before ye be bosnd.
