Page:Crazy Jane (2).pdf/3

 Now forlorn and broken-hearted,

And with frenzied thoughts beset,

On that spot where last we parted,

On that spot where first we met,

Still I sing my love-lorn ditty.

Still I slowly pace the plain;

While each passer-by, in pity,

Cries—God help thee, Crazy Jane!

Ae day a braw wooer came down the lang glen

And sair wi' his love did he deave me;

But I said there was naething I hated like men,

The deuce tak' the lad to believe me.

A weel stocket mailen himself o't the laird,

An' bridal aff han' was the proffer;

I never loot on that I kend or I ca'rd,

But I thought I might get a waur offer.

He spake o' the darts o' my bonny black e'en;

An' O, for my love he was diein'

I said he might die when he liket for Jean:

The gude forgi'e me for liein’.

But what do you think? in a fortnight or less.

(He has a poor taste to gae near her)

He's down to the castle to black cousin Bess;

O, think how could I endure her.

An' a' the niest ouk as I fretted wi' care,

I gaed to the tryst o' Dulgarlock;