7
But I cam thro' the Tisday's dew,
To wanton Willie’s braudy.
COUNTRY LASSIE.
In simmer, when the hay was mawn.
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While clover blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw on ilka bield;
Blyth Bessie in the milking shiel',
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will
Out speak a dame in wrinkl'd eild,
O' gude advisement comes nae ill.
It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie, ye'er but young, ye ken
Then wait a wee, and canny wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this from me, my bonny hen.
It's plenty beets the lover's fire.
Far Johnnie o' the duskie Glen
I dinna care a singal flie;
He looes sae weel his craps the kye,
He has nae love to spare for me.
