( 3 )
O Jamie ye hae mony te’en,
But I will ne'er stand up for ane,
Or twa, till we do meet again,
Sae ne'er think me a Gawkie.
Ah! na lass, that canna be.
Sic thoughts as these are far frae me,
Or ony thy sweet face that see,
E’er to think thee a Gawkie.
But whisht, nae mair of this we'll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet;
Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,
I true he likes the Gawkie.
O dear Bess, I hardly knew,
When I came, your gown’s sae new,
I think you've got it wet wi’ dew;
Quoth Bess, that’s like a Gawkie.
It’s wet wi’ dew and ’twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when this is gane,
Sae ye may gang the gat ye came,
And tell it to your Dawtie.
The guilt appear’d in Jamie’s cheek,
He cry'd, o cruel maid, but sweet,
If I should gang anither gate,
I ne'er could meet my Dawtie.
The lasses fast frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie fair to rue,
That ever Maggie’s face he knew,
Or yet ca'd Bess a Gawkie.
