Page:Songs.pdf/4

4 

P the lads that are free,

Pity the chiels that are single;

For gude sake! tak pity on me.

I’m teased night an’ day wi’ Jean Pringle.

For lasses I carena a preen,

My heart’s my ain an’ I’m chary,

An', wer’t nae for that cutty Jean,

I’d sleep as soun’ as a peerie!

What's beauty?—it a’ lies in taste!

For nane o’t wad I gie a bodle!

But hers, hauntin’ me like a ghaist,

Is whiles like to turn my noddle!

She’s wooers—but what's that to me?

They’re walcome to dance a’ about her;

Yet I like na her smilin’ sae slee

To lang Sandy Lingles the souter!

Yestreen I cam in frae the plew,

The lasses were a’ busy spinnin;

I stoiter'd as if I’d been fou,

For Jeanie a sang was beginnin’.

I hae heard fifty maids sing.

Whiles ane an’ whiles a’ thegether;

But nane did the starting tears bring

Till she sung the “Braes of Balquhither.”

Last Sunday, when gaun to the kirk,

I met wi' my auld aunty Beenie;

I looked as stupid’s a stirk

When simply she said—"How is Jeanie?"

An' at e'en, when I, wi' the rest,

Was carritched baith Larger an’ Single,

When speered-Wham we suld like best?

I stammered out—“ Young Jennie Pringle !