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"See, I'm doitet, daft, an' dizzy,
"Lack-a-day! I scarce ha'e breath!”
Colin now, wi' sorrow laiden,
Laid him down to get a nap,
Whan a rosy-cheeked maiden
Glinted o'er the hillock tap.
'Twas his Jenny, blyth an' pretty,
She unseen had heard his plaint,
Constant Colin's doolfu' ditty
Gart the fickle lass relent.
"Cheer thee," cries the lassie, "cheer thee—
"Farmer Pate was ne'er like thee—
"A' his pelf, lad, needs na fear thee—
"Colin Clout's the lad for me!"
Colin started up wi' wonder,
Jenny's een dispell'd his doubt—
Soon he threw his arms around her—
Happy, happy Colin Clout!
Mony a smack the laddie laid on
Blushing Jenny's bonny mou'.—
Colin prov'd—sae did the maiden—
Constant ever, ever true!
W. B.
Dundee 1788.
