But, whisht, nae mair o' this we'll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet:
Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,
I trow he likes the gawkie.
"O dear Bess, I hardly knew,
When I cam' by your gown sae new;
I think you've got it wet wi' dew."
Quoth she, 'that's like a gawkie;
'It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when it is gane;
Sae ye may gaug the gate ye came,
And tell it to your dawtie.'
The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek:
He cried, "O cruel maid, but sweet,
If I should gang anither gate,
I ne'er could meet my dawtie."
The lasses fast frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie sair to rue,
That ever Maggie's face he knew,
Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie.
As they gade owre the muir they sang,
The hills and dales wi' echo rang,
The hills and dales wi' echo rang,
'Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.'
O tell me how to woo thee.
[Written by Mr. Graham of Gartmore, and first published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1801.]
If doughty deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed:
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture in my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eye,
Shall rue it to his smart.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love,
O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Though ne'er another trow me.
If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
That voice that nane can match.
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me;
I never loved but you.
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing—
O tell me how to woo!
It fell on a Morning.
[This song, by Joanna Baillie, originally appeared in The Harp of Caledonia, published at Glasgow in 1821, and edited by Mr. John Struthers.]
It fell on a morning whan we were thrang,
Our kirn was gaun, our cheese was making,
And bannocks on the girdle baking,
That ane at the door chapt loud and lang.
But the auld gudewife and her Mays sae tight,
Of this stirring and din took sma' notice, I ween
For a chap at the door, in braid day-light,
Is no like a chap when heard at e'en.
Then the clocksey auld laird of the warlock glen,
Wha stood without, half cow'd, half cheerie,
And yearn'd for a sight of his winsome dearie,
Raised up the latch and came crousely ben.
His coat was new and his o'erlay was white,
And his hose and his mittens were coozy and bein;
But a wooer that comes in braid day-light,
Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en.
He greeted the carlin' and lasses sae braw,
And his bare lyart pow he smoothly straiket,
And looked about, like a body half glaiket,
On bonnie sweet Nanny the youngest of a'.
"Ha ha!" quo' the carlin, "and look ye that way?
Hoot! let na sic fancies bewilder ye clean;
An elderlin man i' the noon o' the day,
Should be wiser than youngsters that come at e'en."
