Page:Tale of three bonnets (NLS104187034).pdf/7

Canto I. O let me lie within your breaſt:

And at your dainty table feaſt;

Well do I like your gowd to finger,

And fit to hear your — Singer;

While on this ſun-ſhine of the brae,

Belongs to you, my limbs I'll lay.

Rofie. I own, ſweet Sir, ye woo me frankly,

But a' your courtſhip fars fae rankly

Of ſelfiſh int'reſt, that I'm fleed,

My perſon leaſt employ's your head.

Jouk. What a diſtinction's this you're making,

When your poor lover's heart is breaking;

Wi' little logic I can ſhew,

That every thing you have is you:

Beſides the beauties of your perſon,

Theſe beds of flow'rs you ſet your a— on,

Your claiths, your land, your lying pelf,

Are ev'ry ane your very ſelf,

And add freſh luſtre to thoſe graces,

With which adorn'd your ſaul and face is.

Roſie. Ye ſeem to have a loving flame

For me, and hate your native hame,

That gars me ergh to truſt you meikle,

For fear you ſhou'd prove fauſe and fickle.

Jouk. In troth my rugged billy Briſtle,

About his gentry maks ſic fiſtle,

That, if a body contradict him,

He's ready wi' a durk to ſtick him;

That wearies me o' hame, I vow,

And fain wou'd live and die wi' you.

Bard. Obſerving Jouk a wee rate tipſy,

Smirking reply'd the pauky gipſy,