Page:Mug of porter.pdf/8

 I'd run to thee, my Johnny dear,
 * Nor stop at bog nor dyke.

But custom's sic a powerfu' thing,
 * Men aye maun hae their will,

While many a bonny lassie sits
 * And sighs each day her fill.

But whisht I hear my Johnny’s foot,
 * Ay that's his very slog

He steeks the fa yett saftly tu,
 * O hang that colly dog.

And now for routh o' sugar'd words,
 * And kisses not a few,

O but this world's a paradise,
 * When lovers do prove true.