| |
| I LO’ED ne’er a laddie but ane, | |
| He lo’es na a lassie but me; | |
| He’s willing to mak’ me his ain, | |
| And his ain I am willing to be. | |
| He coft me a rokelay o’ blue, | 5 |
| And a pair o’ mittens o’ green; | |
| He vowed that he’d ever be true, | |
| And I plighted my troth yestreen. | |
| |
| Let ithers brag weel o’ their gear, | |
| Their land and their lordly degree; | 10 |
| I carena for aught but my dear, | |
| For he’s ilka thing lordly to me. | |
| His words are sae sugared, sae sweet, | |
| His sense drives ilk fear far awa’; | |
| I listen, puir fool, and I greet, | 15 |
| 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? | 20 |
| 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 Menie, the heart that is true | 25 |
| Has something mair costly than gear; | |
| Ilk e’en it has naething to rue, | |
| Ilk morn it has naething to fear. | |
| Ye warldlings, gae hoard up your store, | |
| And tremble for fear aught ye tyne; | 30 |
| Guard your 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, | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
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