Page:Mug of porter.pdf/7



This is the night my Johnny set,
 * And promised to be here,

O what can stay his lagging steps,
 * He's fickle grown I fear.

Wae worth that wheel 'twill no rin round,
 * Nae mair the night I'll spin,

But count each minute wi' a sigh,
 * Till Johnny do steal in.

How snug the canty fire it burns,
 * For twa to sit beside,

An there doss aft my Johnny sit,
 * And I my blushes hide.

My father now sae snugly snores,
 * My mither's fast asleep;

He promissd aft, but ah I fear,
 * His word he winna keep.

What can it be keeps him frae me.
 * The roads are nae sae long,

The frost and snaw are nought at a',
 * If folks were fain to gang.

Some ithar lass wi' bonnier face.
 * Has caught his wandring ee

Thas thole their jear at kirk or fair,
 * Na, sooner let me die.

O could we lasses now but gang
 * And woo the lads belike,