Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Caledonian songster

31
Gudejorgi'e me.
To its own Tune.
Aa day a braw wooer came down the lang glen,
An' sair wi' his love he did deave me ;
But I said, there was naething I hated like men,
But O 1 what a fool to believe me.
A weel stocket mailen* himsell for the laird,
A bridal aff hand was the proffer,
I never loot on that I kent it, or car'd ;
But thought I might get a waur offer.
He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een,
An' how for my love he was diein' ;
I said, he might die when he liket for Jean,
The Gude forgi'e me for liein' !
But what do ye think, in a fortnight or less,
(The diel's in his taste to gae near her),
He's down the laug glen to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how the jade I could bear her I
Sae a' the neist ouk as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryst o' Dulgarlock j
An' wha but my braw fickle wooer was there,
Wha glowr'd as if he'd seen a warlock.