And nae man that hobbles need come here to woo.
And there’s Murdoch the gauger, wha rides a blind horse,
And nae man can mak a mair beautifu’ boo;
But I shall ne’er tak him, for better, for worse,
For, sax days a week, gauger Murdoch is fou.
I wonder when Willie Waught’s faither ’ll dee;
(I wonder hoo that brings the blude to my brow;)
I wonder if Willie will then be for me;—
I wonder if then he’ll be coming to woo?
“It’s your turn now to sing, Tammy,” said Robin, “although I dinna ken that ye are very gude at it.”