The Black-Bird Songster/The Carle He Cam' Ower the Craft

THE CARLE HE CAM' OWER THE CRAFT.

Tho carle he cam' ewer the craft,
⁠Wi' his beard new-shaven;
He leeked at me as he'd been daft—
⁠The carle trowed that I wad hae him!
Hout awa! I winna hae him!
⁠Na, forsooth, I winna hae him!
For a' his beard's new-shaven,
⁠Ne'er a bit o' me will hae him,

A siller brooch he gae me neist,
⁠To fasten on my curchio noekit;
I wore't a wee upon my breist,
⁠But soon, alako! the tengue o't crookit;
And sao may his; I winna hae him
⁠Na, forseoth, I winna hac him!
Twice-a-bairn's a lassio's jest;
⁠Sae eny feel for me may hae him.

The carle has nae fault but ano;
⁠For he has land and dollars plenty;
Bnt waes me for him, skin and bano
⁠Is no fer a plump lass ef twenty.
Hout awa, I winna hao him!
⁠Na, fersooth, I winna hae him!
What signifies his dirty riggs,
⁠And cash, without a man wi' them?

But sheuld my cankert daddie gar
⁠Me tak him 'gainst my inclination,
I warn the fumbler to bewaro
⁠That antlers dinna clain their station.
Hout awa! I winna hao him!
⁠Na, forsooth, I winna hae him!
I'm fleyod to crack the holy band,
⁠Sae lawty says, I shouldna hae him.