The Book of Scottish Song/The Kiss ahint the Door

The Kiss ahint the Door.

[Thomas C. Latto.—First printed in "Whistlebinkie."]

There's meikle bliss in ae fond kiss,
Whyles mair than in a score;
But wae betak' the stouin smack
I took ahint the door.

"O laddie whisht! for sic a fricht
I ne'er was in afore,
Fu' brawly did my mither hear
The kiss ahint the door."
The wa's are thick, ye needna fear,
But gin they jeer an' mock,
I'll swear it was a startit cork,
Or wyte the rusty lock.
There's meikle bliss, &c.

We stappit ben, while Maggie's face
Was like a lowin' coal;
And as for me I could ha'e crept
Into a rabbit's hole.
The mither lookt, saff's how she lookt!
Thae mithers are a bore,
An' gleg as ony cat to hear
A kiss ahint the door.
There's meikle bliss, &c.

The douce gudeman, though he was there,
As weel micht been in Rome,
For by the fire he fuff'd his pipe,
And never fash'd his thoom;
But tittrin' in a corner stood
The gawky sisters four,
A winter's nicht for me they micht
Ha'e stood ahint the door.
There's meikle bliss, &c.

"How daur ye tak' sic freedoms here?"
The bauld gudewife began,
Wi' that a foursome yell gat up,
I to my heels an' ran;
A besom whiskit by my lug,
An' dishclouts half a score,
Catch me again, though fidgin' fain,
At kissin' 'hint the door.
There's meikle bliss, &c.

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