Tak' tent now, Jean.
[Ivan.]
Tak' tent now, Jean,—ye mind yestreen
The tap that raised ye frae your wheel.
Your wily e'e, that glanced on me,
Ha! lass, the meaning I kent weel.
But I ha'e tint thy kindly glint,
And lightly now ye geek at me;
But, lass, tak' heed, you'll rue the deed,
When aiblins we'll be waur to 'gree.
Tak' tent now, Jean,—the careless mein,
And cauldrife look, are ill to dree;
It's sair to bide the scornfu' pride
And saucy leer o' woman's e'e.
Ah! where is now the bosom-vow,
The gushing tear of melting love,
The heav'nly thought, which fancy wrought,
Of joy below, and bliss above?
Tak' tent now, Jean,—thae twa sweet een
Fu' light and blithely blink I trow;
The hinney drop on the red-rose top
Is nae sae sweet as thy wee mou':
But though thy fair and faithless air
Hath wrung the bosom-sigh frae me,
A changing mind, and heart unkind,
May chill a breast as dear to thee.