The Book of Scottish Song/There's plenty come to woo me
There's plenty come to woo me.
[By William Anderson, author of "Landscape Lyrics," &c.—Here printed for the first time.]
There's plenty come to woo me,
And ca' me sweet and fair
There's plenty say they lo'e me,
But they never venture mair:
They never say they'll marry,
Though love is all their tune,
From June to January,
From January to June.
I canna keep frae smiling,
At their flatteries and art,
Wi' a' their fond beguiling,
They'll ne'er beguile my heart;
For nought can fix a maiden
Whase heart is warm and true,
But vows wi' marriage laden,
Though mony come to woo!
That a's no gowd that glitters
I've either heard or read,
And that marriage has its bitters
As well as sweets, is said:
But though it gets the blame o'
Some things that winDa tell,
The fau't that folks complain o'
Lies aften wi' themsel'.
The year, as on it ranges,
Within its twalmonths fa',
Shows mony fretful changes,
And's lightsome wi' them a'.
Though winters tempests thicken,
Spring comes wi' cheerful face,
And summer smiles to quicken
A' nature wi' its grace.
The year o' life is marriage,
And we canna wed too sune,
Whan twa divide the carriage,
The wark is cheerily dune.
If one true heart wad ha'e me
For better and for worse,
Wi' him I'd gladly share aye,
The blessing and the curse.