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THE GOWK
I see the Gowk an’ the Gowk sees me
Beside a berry-bush by the aipple-tree.
Old Scots Rhyme.
Tib, my auntie’s a deil to wark,
Has me risin’ ’afore the sun ;
Aince her heid is abune her sark
Then the clash o’ her tongue’s begun !
Warslin’, steerin’ wi’ hens an’ swine,
Naucht kens she o’ a freend o’ mine—
But the Gowk that bides i’ the woods o’ Dun
He kens him fine !
Past the yaird an’ ahint the stye,
O the aipples grow bonnilie !
Tib, my auntie, she canna’ spy
Wha comes creepin’ to kep wi’ me.
Aye ! she’d sort him, for, dod, she’s fell!
Whisht now, Jimmie, an’ hide yersel'
An’ the wise-like bird i’ the aipple-tree
He winna’ tell!
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