4
PITY THE LADS THAT ARE FREE
Pity the lads that are free,
Pity the chiels that are single;
For gude sake! tak pity on me.
I’m teased night an’ day wi’ Jean Pringle.
For lasses I carena a preen,
My heart’s my ain an’ I’m chary,
An', wer’t nae for that cutty Jean,
I’d sleep as soun’ as a peerie!
What's beauty?—it a’ lies in taste!
For nane o’t wad I gie a bodle!
But hers, hauntin’ me like a ghaist,
Is whiles like to turn my noddle!
She’s wooers—but what's that to me?
They’re walcome to dance a’ about her;
Yet I like na her smilin’ sae slee
To lang Sandy Lingles the souter!
Yestreen I cam in frae the plew,
The lasses were a’ busy spinnin;
I stoiter'd as if I’d been fou,
For Jeanie a sang was beginnin’.
I hae heard fifty maids sing.
Whiles ane an’ whiles a’ thegether;
But nane did the starting tears bring
Till she sung the “Braes of Balquhither.”
Last Sunday, when gaun to the kirk,
I met wi' my auld aunty Beenie;
I looked as stupid’s a stirk
When simply she said—"How is Jeanie?"
An' at e'en, when I, wi' the rest,
Was carritched baith Larger an’ Single,
When speered-Wham we suld like best?
I stammered out—“ Young Jennie Pringle !
