Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/158

140 And there is gentle Madeline,

Wi' een o' lovin' blue,

To hear her sing an auld Scotch sang

You'd bless her earnest mou'.

Aye when I gang frae Madeline,

Nae body by to tell,

The winsome sangs she sings to me

I whistle to mysel'.

Noo, can ye guess me whilk o' them

My wifie's like to be?—

In troth, I kenna weel mysel'—

They're a' sae dear to me!

[—Air, "Hey, Donald, ho, Donald."—Here first printed.]

[.—First printed in "Whistlebinkie."]

meikle bliss in ae fond kiss,

Whyles mair than in a score;

But wae betak' the stouin smack

I took ahint the door.

"O laddie whisht! for sic a fricht

I ne'er was in afore,

Fu' brawly did my mither hear

The kiss ahint the door."

The wa's are thick, ye needna fear,

But gin they jeer an' mock,

I'll swear it was a startit cork,

Or wyte the rusty lock.

There's meikle bliss, &c.

We stappit ben, while Maggie's face

Was like a lowin' coal;

And as for me I could ha'e crept

Into a rabbit's hole.

The mither lookt, saff's how she lookt!

Thae mithers are a bore,

An' gleg as ony cat to hear

A kiss ahint the door.

There's meikle bliss, &c.

The douce gudeman, though he was there,

As weel micht been in Rome,

For by the fire he fuff'd his pipe,

And never fash'd his thoom;

But tittrin' in a corner stood

The gawky sisters four,

A winter's nicht for me they micht

Ha'e stood ahint the door.

There's meikle bliss, &c.