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ANDREW CARR,
DOWN in yonder glen,
there lives old Bessie Blench,
And she had a daughter,
a comely young wench,
Scarce seventeen winters old,
and she was sore afraid,
That she would no husband get,
and be forc’d to die a maid.
O mother I'll have a man,
if there be one to be had;
For there lives Andrew Carr,
a bonny bucksome lad,
He says he likes me well,
and what can I say mair?
O mother, if you think fit
the priest will mak us a pair.
Begone, you muckle gowk,
and a bonny pair you'll be,
For how do you think he can
maintain himself and thee ?
There’s naething between you twa,
but the claes upon your back;
And when you married are,
there’s many a thing you lack.
