The Book of Scottish Song/I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane
I lo’ed ne’er a laddie but ane.
[The first eight lines of this song, and other eight rather too homely for extract here, are said by Burns to have been written by the Rev. John Clunie, minister of Borthwick, Midlothian, who died in 1819, aged 62. The rest of the song, beginning "Let ithers brag weel o' their gear," is by Hector Macneil. The tune bears a strong resemblance to the Irish air called "My lodging is on the cold ground."]
I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane;
He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me;
He's willing to mak' me his ain;
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rokelay o' blue,
And a pair o' mittens o' green;
The price was a kiss o' my mou';
And I paid him the debt yestreen.
Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,
Their land, and their lordly degree;
I carena for aught but my dear,
For he's ilka thing lordly to me:
His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet!
His sense drives ilk fear far awa'!
I listen, poor fool! and I greet;
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'!
Dear lassie, he cries wi' a jeer,
Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say;
Though we've little to brag o'—ne'er fear;
What's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care;
Now we, though we've naething but health,
Are cantie and leal evermair.
O Marion! the heart that is true,
Has something mair costly than gear
Ilk e'en it has naething to rue—
Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
Ye warldlings, ga'e hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear ought you tyne;
Guard youi treasures wi' lock, bar, and door,
While here in my arms I lock mine!
He ends wi' a kiss and a smile—
Wae's me, can I tak' it amiss!
My laddie's unpractised in guile,
He's free aye to daut and to kiss!
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks—I ha'e gi'en my consent,
And this night I am Jamie's for life.