Page:Gramachree Molly.pdf/7

 Wow, Nany, what needs a' this din?

do l not ken this Sandy?

I’m ure the chief of a' his kin

was Rab' the beggar randy:

His minnie Meg upo' her back

bare baith him and his billy;

Will ye compare a naty pack,

to me your winome Willie?

My Gutcher left a good braid word,

though it be auld and ruty.

Yet ye may tak it on my word,

it is baith true and truty;

And if I can but get it draws,

which will be right uneay,

I hall lay baith my lugs in pawn,

that he tiall get a heezy.

Then Nany turn’d her round about,

and aid, Did Sandy hear ye,

Ye wadna mis to get a clout,

I ken he difna fear ye.

Sae ha’d your tongue, and ay nae mair,

et ome where ele your fancy.

For as lang as Sandy’s to the fore,

ye never hall get Nany.





H! Gods, what can be tranger,

ure none but Love, or you.