He's will'n' to mak me his ain,
an’ his ain I'm willin' to be.
He caft me a rokely o' blue,
a pair o’ mittens o' green,
An' his price was a kiss o’ my mou',
an' ! paid him the debt yestreen.
My mither's ay makin’ a phraze
"that I'm luckie young to be wed!“
But lang e'er she counted my days,
o’ me she was brought to bed;
Sae mither just settle your tongue,
an' dinna be flyting sae bauld,
For we can do the thing when we're young,
hat we canna do weel when we’re auld.
Did ever swain a nymph adore,
as I ungrateful Nanny did?
Was ever shepherd’s so sore,
or ever broken heart so true ?
My cheeks are swell'd with tears, but she
Has never wet a cheek for me.
If Nanny call'd, did e’er I stay,
or linger when she bid me run;
She only had the word to say,
and all she wish'd was quickly done,
I always think of her, but she
Does ne'er bestow a thought on me.