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7
O had ye're tongue, m’ doughter,
And ye’s get gear enough;
The stirk that stands i‘ the tether,
And our bra' basin‘d yade,
Will carry ye hame your corn,
What wad ye be at, ye jade?
Woo‘d, and married, &c.
Out spake the bride‘s mither,
What deil peeds a‘ this pride;
I had nae a plack in my pouch
That night I was a bride;
My gown was linsy-woolsy,
And ne‘er a sark ava;
And ye hae ribbons and buskins,
Mae than ane or twa.
Woo‘d, and married, &c.
What's the matter, quo‘ Willie,
Tho‘ we be scant o‘ claes,
We'll creep the nearer thegither,
And we'll smore a‘ the fleas:
Simmer is coming on,
And we'll get teats of woo;
And we‘ll get a lass o‘ our ain,
And she'll spin claiths anew.
Woo'd, and married, &c.
