My Gudeman.
[Alex. Rodger.—Air, "Loch-Erroch Side.'—The first four lines form the chorus of a very-old song.]
My gudeman says aye to me,
Says aye to me, says aye to me;
My gudeman says aye to me,
Come cuddle in my bosie!
Though wearin' auld, he's blyther still
Than mony a swankie youthfu' chiel,
And a' his aim's to see me weel,
And keep me snug and cozie.
For though my cheeks, where roses grew,
Ha'e tint their lively glowing hue,
My Johnnie's just as kind and true
As if I still were rosy.
Our weel-won gear he never drank,
He never lived aboon his rank,
Yet wi' a neebour blythe and frank,
He could be as jocose aye.
We ha'e a hame, gude halesome cheer,
Contentment, peace, a conscience clear,
And rosy bairns to us mair dear
Than treasures o' Potosi:
Their minds are formed in virtue's school,
Their fau'ts are check'd wi' temper cool,
For my gudeman mak's this his rule,
To keep frae hasty blows aye.
It ne'er was siller gart us wed,
Youth, health, and love, were a' we had,
Possess'd o' these, we toil'd fu' glad,
To shun want's bitter throes aye;
We've had our cares, we've had our toils,
We've had our bits o' troubles whiles,
Yet, what o' that? my Johnnie's smiles
Shed joy o'er a' our woes aye.
Wi' mutual aid we've trudged through life,
A kind gudeman, a cheerfu' wife;
And on we'll jog, unvexed by strife,
Towards our journey's close, aye!
And when we're stretch'd upon our bier,
Oh may our souls, sae faithfu' here,
Together spring to yonder sphere,
Where love's pure river flows aye.