(4)
Kind and gentle was her nature;
At ilk place ſhe bore the bell;———
Sic a bloom, and ſhape, and ſtature!
But her look nae tongue can tell!
Sic was Jean whan Will firſt mawing
Spied her on a thraward beaft;
Flew like fire, and juſt whán fa'ing
Kept her on his manly breaſt.
Light he bare her pale as aſhes
Croſs the meadow fragrant, green!
Plac'd her on the new-mawn raſhes,
Watching ſad her opening een.
Sic was Will, whan poor Jean fainting
Drapt into a lover's arms;
Waken’d to his ſaft lamenting;
Sigh'd, and bluſh'd a thouſand charms.
Soon they loo'd, and ſoon war buckl'd;
Nane took time to think and rue.
Youth and worth and beauty cuppl'd
Luve had never leſs to do.
Three ſhort years flew by ſu' canty,
Jean and Will thought them but ane;
Ilka day brought joy and plenty,
Ilka year a dainty wean.
Will wrought fair; but aye wi' pleaſure;
Jean thic hale day ſpan and ſang;
Will and weans her conſtant treaſure,
Bleſt wi' them nae day ſeem'd lang;
