Page:Mavis.pdf/4

Rh Mak’ their ſhoon as black as flaes;

their ſtockings white as ſnaw;

’Tis a’ to pleaſure our goodman,

he likes to ſee them braw.

There are twa hens into the crib,

have fed this month and mair,

Mak' haſte, and thraw their necks about,

that Colin weel may fare.

Bring down to me my bigonet,

my Biſhop-ſattin gown,

And then gae tell the Bailie’s wife

that Colin’s come to town.

My Turkey ſlippers I’ll put on,

my ſtockings pearl blue,

And a’ to pleaſure our goodman,

For he’s baith leal and true.

Sae ſweet his voice, ſae ſmooth his tongue,

his breath’s like cauler air,

His very tread has music in’t,

as he comes up the ſtair.

And will I ſee his face again?

And will I hear him ſpeak?

I’m downright dizzy with the joy!

In troth I’m like to greet.

There’s nae luck, &c.