The Book of Scottish Song/My mither men't

My mither men't.

[Alex. Rodger.— Air, "The Cornclips."]

My mither men't my auld breeks,
⁠An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to etg Mally shod
⁠At Robin Tamson's smiddy;
The smiddy stands beside the burn
⁠That wimples through the clachan,
I never yet gae by the door,
⁠But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

For Robin was a walthy carle,
⁠An' had ae bonnie dochter,
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
⁠Though mony lads had sought her;
And what think ye o' my exploit?—
⁠The time our mare was shoeing,
I shppit up beside the lass,
⁠An' briskly fell a-wooing.

An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks,
⁠The time that we sat crackin',
Quo' I, my lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
⁠I've new anes for the makin';
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
⁠An' lea' the carle, your father,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
⁠Mysel', an' a' thegither.

'Deed, lad, quo' she, your offer's fair,
⁠I really think I'll tak' it,
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
⁠We'll baith slip on the back o't,
For gin I wait my father's time,
⁠I'll wait till I be fifty;
But na;—I'll marry in my prime,
⁠An' mak' a wife most thrifty.

Wow! Robin was an angry man,
⁠At tyning o' his dochter:
Through a' the kintra-side he ran,
⁠An' far an' near he sought her;
But when he cam' to our fire-end,
⁠An' fand us baith thegither,
Quo' I, gudeman, I've ta'en your baira,
⁠An' ye may tak' my mither.

Auld Robin gim'd an' sheuk his pow,
⁠Guid sooth! quo' he, you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word,
⁠An' end this hurry-burry;
So Robin an' our auld wife
⁠Agreed to creep thegither;
Now, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet,
⁠An' Robin has my mither.

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