The roving batchelor/Bess the Gawkie

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BESS THE GAWKIE.

Blythe young Jean to Bess did say,
Will ye gang to yon funny brae,
Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray;
And sport a while wi’ Jamie?
Ah na lass I’ll no gang there,
N(illegible text)r about Jamie tak nae care,
He flighted me, and that’s no fair,
For he’s ta’en up wi’ Maggie.

For hark, and I will tell you, lass,
Did I not see young Jamie pass,
Wi’ meikle blythness in his face.
Out o’er the muir to Maggie.
I wat he gae her meny a kiss,
And Maggie took them ne'er amiss,
'Tween ilka smack pleas'd her wi' this,
That Bess was but a Gawkie.

For whene’er a civil kiss I seek,
She turns her head, and thraws her cheek,
And for an hour she’ll scarcely speak,
Who’d not call her a Gawkie?
B(illegible text) sure my Maggie has mair sense,
She’ll gie a scare without offence,
Now gie me ane unto the mense.
And ye shall be my datie.

O Jamie ye hae mony taen,
But I will ne’er stand up for ane,
Or twa till we do meet again,
Sae ne’er think me a gawkie.
Ah na lass, that cannot be.
Sic thoughts as these are far from me,
Wi’ (illegible text)ny thy sweet face that see,
E’er to think thee a gawkie.

But whisht nae mair o’ this we’ll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet,
Instead of Meg he kiss’d sae sweet,
I trow he likes the gawkie.
O dear Bess! I hardly knew,
When I came, your gown’s sae new;
I think y u’ve got it wet with dew:
Quoth Bess, that’s like a gawkie.

I's wet with dew, and ’twill get rain,
And I ll get gowns when this is gane,
Sae ye may gang the gate ye came,
And tell it to your dawtie.
The guilt appear’d in Jamie’s cheek,
He cry’d, O cruel maid, but sweet,
If I should gang another gate,
I ne’er could meet my dawtie.

The lasses fast frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie sair to rue,
That ever Maggie’s face he knew,
Or yet ca’d Bess a gawkie.
As they went o'er the muir they sang,
The hills and dales with echoes rang,
The hills and dales with echoes rang,
Gang o’er the muir to Maggie.

F I N I S.

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Falkirk, Printed by T. Johnston.