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But let it gang, what de'il care I,
With eident thrift I'll toil for mair,
I'll half my mite with Misery,
But fient a ane of them shall share.
With soul unbent, I'll stand the stour,
And while they're flutt'ring past my door,
I'll sing with glee, and let them see
An honest heart can ne'er be poor.
------
THE LASSIE O' MERRY EIGHTEEN
My father wad ha'e me to marry the miller,
My mither wad ha'e me to marry the laird,
But brawly I ken it's the love o' the siller,
That brightens their fancy to ony regard;
The miller is crookit, the miller is crabbit,
The laird, tho' he's wealthy, he's lyart and lean,
He's auld, an' he's cauld, an' he's blin', an' he's bald
An' he's no for a lassie o' merry eighteen.
But O there's a laddie who tolls me he lo'es me,
An' him I lo'e dearly, aye, dearly as life,
Tho' father an' mither should scold an' abuse me,
Nae ither shall ever get me for a wife;
Although he can boast na o' land nor yet siller,
He's worth to match w' a duchess or queen,
For his heart is sae warm, an' sae stately his form,
An' then, like mysel' he's just merry eighteen.
