THEY snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
But three short years will soon wheel roun",
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam.
An O, for ane, &c.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam:
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
An O, for ane, &c.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
An O, for ane,
BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel?
IN simmer when the hay was mawn, And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the lea, And roses blaw in ilka bield;
THEY snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam! But three short years will soon wheel roun", And then comes ane and twenty, Tam. An O, for ane, &c.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam:
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
An O, for ane, &c.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
An O, for ane, &c.
BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn whe
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning whnesi
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiei,
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this bumble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joyg,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel?
In simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,
O' guid advisement comes nae ill.
It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
. Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonny hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire.
For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe's the blinkso? Robie's e'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.
O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best,
A hungry care's an unco care!
But some will spend, and some will spare, An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill
O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
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