Page:Roving batchelor.pdf/7

( 7 ) I wat he gae her meny a kiss,

And Maggie took them ne'er amiss,

'Tween ilka smack pleas'd her wi' this,

That Bess was but a Gawkie.

For whene’er a civil kiss I seek,

She turns her head, and thraws her cheek,

And for an hour she’ll scarcely speak,

Who’d not call her a Gawkie?

B sure my Maggie has mair sense,

She’ll gie a scare without offence,

Now gie me ane unto the mense.

And ye shall be my datie.

O Jamie ye hae mony taen,

But I will ne’er stand up for ane,

Or twa till we do meet again,

Sae ne’er think me a gawkie.

Ah na lass, that cannot be.

Sic thoughts as these are far from me,

Wi’ ny thy sweet face that see,

E’er to think thee a gawkie.

But whisht nae mair o’ this we’ll speak,

For yonder Jamie does us meet,

Instead of Meg he kiss’d sae sweet,

I trow he likes the gawkie.