O Meikle thinks my luve o’ my beauty,
And meikle thinks my luve o’ my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
My tocher’s the jewel has charms for him.
It’s a’ for the apple he’ll nourish the tree;
It’s a’ for the hiney he’ll cherish the bee;
My laddie’s sae meikle in luve wi’ the siller,
He canna hae lure to spare for me.
II.
Your proffer o’ luve’s an airl-penny,
My tocher’s the bargain ye wad buy;
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’,
Sae ye wi’ anither your fortune maun try.
Ye’re like to the timmer o’ yon rotten tree,
Ye’ll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
And ye’ll crack your credit wi’ mae nor me.
XCVIII.
GANE IS THE DAY.
Tune—“Gudewife count the lawin.”
[The air as well as words of this song were furnished to the Museum by Burns. “The chorus,” he says, “is part of an old song.”]
I.
Gane is the day, and mirk’s the night,
But we’ll ne’er stray for fau’t o’ light,
For ale and brandy’s stars and moon,
And blude-red wine’s the rising sun.
Then gudewife count the lawin,
The lawin, the lawin;
Then gudewife count the lawin,
And bring a coggie mair!