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WHA'LL MOW ME NOW?

Tune—"Coming through the Rye."

An old song.

O wha'll mow me now, my jo.  And wha'll mow me now, A sodger with his bandileers  Has bang'd my belly fou. O I hae tint my rosy cheek,  Likewise my waist sae sma', O wae gae wi' the sodger loon,  The sodger did it a'. And wha'll, &c. For I maun thole the scornfu' sneer,  O mony a saucy queen. When, curse upon her godly face,  Her c——'s as merry's mine. And wha'll, &c. Our dame holds up her wanton tail,  As oft as she down lies, And yet misca's a young thing,  The trade if she but tries. And wha'll, &c. Our dame has aye her ain gudeman,  And f——s for glutton greed, And yet misca's a poor thing,  That f——s for its bread. And wha'll, &c. Alack! sae sweet a tree as love,  Sae bitter fruit should bear, Alas! that e'er a merry c—t,  Should draw so mony a tear. And wha'll, &c. But devil tak' the lousy loon,  Denies the bairn he got, Or leaves the merry lass he lo'ed,  To wear a ragged coat. And wha'll, &c.