(3)
Wha wou'd thought the love o' siller
parted this sweet lass and me?
Jenny's rich auld aunty, Maggy,
died, and made but little din,
Left her gowd and blankets plenty,
kists o' claise, and lint to spin.
Frae the moment Jenny got a',
Johnny nae mair fill'd e'e;
Scoury lairds, and trash o' farmers
pleas'd her then instead o' me.
Lang my leal heart fair was wounded,
love's first marks are printed deep;
Wi' slighted love, and lasses' scornin',
night nor day, could get nae sleep.
I curs'd the gowd, that root o' evil,
that had sic charms to change the mind;
I cursed a' deceivin' women,
I curs'd mysel' for being sae blind.
But time, the king of cures for a'thing,
wore the glammer frae my een,
Then I had power to look about me,
and soon I fix'd on bonny Jean!
I follow'd her to kirk and market,
('mang the maids she bare the grec,)
