THE LASS O' GOWRIE.
Upon a simmer afternoon,
A wee before the sun gade down,
My lassie in a braw new gown,
Cam o'er the hi'ls to Gowrie.
The rose-bud ting'd with morning show'r,
Blooms fresh within the sunny bow'r;
But Katie was the fairest flower
That ever bloom'd in Gowrie.
Nae thought had I to do her wrang,
But round her waist my arms I flang,
And said, My dearie, will ye gang
To see the Carse o' Gowrie?
I'll tak ye to my father's ha',
In you green fields beside the shaw;
I'll mak you lady o them a',
The brawest wife in Gowrie.
A silken gown o'siller grey,
My mither coft last new-year's-day,
And buskit me frae tap te tae,
To keep are out o' Gowrie.
Daft Will, short syne, cam courting Nell,
And wan the lass, but what befel,
Or whar she's gane, she kens hersel,
She staid na lang in Gowrie.
Sic thoughts, dear Katie, ill combine
Wi' beauty rare, and wit like thine;
Except yoursel, my bonny queer,
I care for nought in Gowrie.
Since first I saw you in the sheal,
To you my heart's been true and leal;
The darkest night I fear nae de'il,
Warlock or witch, in Gowrie.
Saft kisses on her lips I laid,
The blush upon her cheeks soon spread;
She whisper'd modestly, and said,
O Pate, I'll stay in Gowrie.
The auld folks soon gac their consent,
Syne for Mess John they quickly sent,
Wha ty'd them to their heart's content,
And now she's Lady Gowrie.