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But let it gang, what de'il care I,
With eident thrift I'll toil for mair,
I'll half my mite with Misery,
But fient a ane of them shall share.
With soul unbent, I'll stand the stour,
And while they're flutt'ring past my door,
I'll sing with glee, and let them see
An henest heart can ne'er be poor.
With eident thrift I'll toil for mair,
I'll half my mite with Misery,
But fient a ane of them shall share.
With soul unbent, I'll stand the stour,
And while they're flutt'ring past my door,
I'll sing with glee, and let them see
An henest heart can ne'er be poor.
THE LASSIE O' MERRY EIGHTEEN
My father wad ha'e me to marry the miller,
My mither wad ha'e me te marry the laird,
But brawly I ken it's the love e' the siller,
That brightens their fancy to ony regard;
The miller is creokit, the miller is crabbit,
The laird, tho' he's wealthy, he's lyart and lean.
He's auld, an' he's cauld, an' he's blin', an' he's bald
An' he's no for a lassie o' merry eighteen.
My mither wad ha'e me te marry the laird,
But brawly I ken it's the love e' the siller,
That brightens their fancy to ony regard;
The miller is creokit, the miller is crabbit,
The laird, tho' he's wealthy, he's lyart and lean.
He's auld, an' he's cauld, an' he's blin', an' he's bald
An' he's no for a lassie o' merry eighteen.
But O there's a laddie who tells me he le'es me,
An' him I lo'e dearly, aye, dearly as life,
Tho' father and mither sheuld scold an' abuse me,
Nae ither shall ever get me for a wife;
Although he can beast na o' land, nor yet siller,
He's worth to match wi' a duchess or queen.
For his heart is sae warm, an' sae stately his form
An' then, like mysel' he's just merry eighteen.
An' him I lo'e dearly, aye, dearly as life,
Tho' father and mither sheuld scold an' abuse me,
Nae ither shall ever get me for a wife;
Although he can beast na o' land, nor yet siller,
He's worth to match wi' a duchess or queen.
For his heart is sae warm, an' sae stately his form
An' then, like mysel' he's just merry eighteen.
