The Book of Scottish Song/My mither men't

My mither men't.

[Alex. Rodger.— Air, "The Cornclips."]

My mither men't my auld breeks,
An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to etg Mally shod
At Robin Tamson's smiddy;
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,
I never yet gae by the door,
But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

For Robin was a walthy carle,
An' had ae bonnie dochter,
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
Though mony lads had sought her;
And what think ye o' my exploit?—
The time our mare was shoeing,
I shppit up beside the lass,
An' briskly fell a-wooing.

An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks,
The time that we sat crackin',
Quo' I, my lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
I've new anes for the makin';
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your father,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither.

'Deed, lad, quo' she, your offer's fair,
I really think I'll tak' it,
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
We'll baith slip on the back o't,
For gin I wait my father's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty;
But na;—I'll marry in my prime,
An' mak' a wife most thrifty.

Wow! Robin was an angry man,
At tyning o' his dochter:
Through a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he sought her;
But when he cam' to our fire-end,
An' fand us baith thegither,
Quo' I, gudeman, I've ta'en your baira,
An' ye may tak' my mither.

Auld Robin gim'd an' sheuk his pow,
Guid sooth! quo' he, you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word,
An' end this hurry-burry;
So Robin an' our auld wife
Agreed to creep thegither;
Now, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet,
An' Robin has my mither.

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