Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls.
Are proof ’gainst swords and cannonballs,
But nought is found by sea or land,
That can a wayward wife withstand.
I'VE BEEN COURTING.
I've been courting at a lass,
These twenty days and mair;
Her father winna gie me her,
She has sic a gleib of gear.
But gin I had her where I would,
Amang the heather here,
I'd strive to win her kindness,
For a‘ her father's care.
For she's a bonny sonsie lass,
An armsfu', I swear;
I would marry her without a coat,
Or e‘er a plack o' gear.
For, trust me, when I saw her first,
She gae me sic a wound,
That a' the doctors i' the earth
Can never mak me sound.