The Book of Scottish Song/Our gudeman's an unco body

Our gudeman's an unco body.

[Thomas Dodd.—Here first printed. Tune, "Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggy."]

Our gudeman's an unco body,
Our gudeman's an unco body,
Ilka plack that he can mak',
He'd drink an' mair than that,—'tweel wad he!

I wrought an' toil'd to buy a cleuk.
When I had just ae groat to win o't,
I hid it in the aumery neuk,
Fu' glad to think he wadna ken o't.

Oh, he's an unco body,
Oh, he's a drouthy body;
He drank it, sirs, and pawn'd my purse,
Tho' my auld cleuk is wearing duddy.

But when he fu' comes hame at e'en,
He's sic a takin' gate aye wi' him,
I sigh and think on what he's been,
I flyte awee, an' just forgi'e him.

Though he's an unco body,
Oh, he's a kindly body,
The wee drap maut is a' his faut—
I like a drap mysel' in toddy.

Twa score an' ten has cool'd his bluid,
And whiles he needs a drap to warm him,
But when he tak's 't to do him guid,
He whiles forgets, and tak's 't to harm him.

Though he's an unco body,
O he's a takin' body,
Ilka year mak's him mair dear,
Though it may mak' his cheek less ruddy.

When twa ha'e wrought, an' twa ha'e fought
For thretty year sae leal thegither,
A faut or flaw is nought ava',
They may weel gree wi' ane anither.

Though he's an unco body,
O he's a loving body,
For a' that's gane he's aye my ain,
An' I maun just his failing study.

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