I LO’ED ne’er a laddie but ane, |
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He lo’es na a lassie but me; |
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He’s willing to mak’ me his ain, |
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And his ain I am willing to be. |
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He coft 1 me a rokelay 2 o’ blue, |
5 |
And a pair o’ mittens o’ green; |
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He vowed that he’d ever be true, |
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And I plighted my troth yestreen. |
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Let ithers brag weel o’ their gear, 3 |
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Their land and their lordly degree; |
10 |
I carena for aught but my dear, |
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For he’s ilka thing lordly to me. |
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His words are sae sugared, sae sweet, |
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His sense drives ilk 4 fear far awa’; |
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I listen, puir fool, and I greet, |
15 |
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa’! |
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‘Dear lassie,’ he cries wi’ a jeer, |
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‘Ne’er heed what the auld anes will say: |
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Though we’ve little to brag o’, ne’er fear, |
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What’s gowd to a heart that is wae? |
20 |
Our laird has baith honours and wealth, |
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Yet see how he’s dwining 5 wi’ care; |
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Now we, though we’ve naething but health, |
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Are cantie 6 and leal 7 evermair. |
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‘O Menie, the heart that is true |
25 |
Has something mair costly than gear; |
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Ilk e’en it has naething to rue, |
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Ilk morn it has naething to fear. |
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Ye warldlings, gae hoard up your store, |
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And tremble for fear aught ye tyne; 8 |
30 |
Guard your treasures wi’ lock, bar, and door, |
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While here in my arms I lock mine!’ |
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He ends wi’ a kiss and a smile— |
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Wae’s me, can I tak’ it amiss? |
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My laddie’s unpractised in guile, |
35 |
He’s free aye to daut 9 and to kiss. |
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Ye lasses wha’ lo’e to torment |
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Your wooers wi’ fause scorn and strife, |
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Play your pranks; I ha’e gi’en my consent, |
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And this night I am Jamie’s for life. |
40 |
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