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| ‘COME under my plaidie, the night’s gaun to fa’; | |
| Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift, and the snaw: | |
| Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, | |
| There’s room in’t, dear lassie, believe me, for twa. | |
| Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, | 5 |
| I’ll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw: | |
| Oh, come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me! | |
| There’s room in’t, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.’ | |
| |
| ‘Gae ’wa wi’ your plaidie, auld Donald, gae ’wa! | |
| I fearna the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw; | 10 |
| Gae ’wa wi’ your plaidie; I’ll no sit beside ye, | |
| Ye may be gutcher; auld Donald, gae ’wa. | |
| I’m gaun to meet Johnnie—he’s young and he’s bonnie; | |
| He’s been at Meg’s bridal, fu’ trig and fu’ braw: | |
| Oh, nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu’, sae tightly; | 15 |
| His cheek’s like the new rose, his brow’s like the snaw.’ | |
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| ‘Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa’; | |
| Your Jock’s but a gowk, and has naething ava; | |
| The hale o’ his pack he has now on his back: | |
| He’s thretty, and I am but threescore and twa. | 20 |
| Be frank now and kindly: I’ll busk ye aye finely, | |
| To kirk or to market there’ll few gang sae braw; | |
| A bien house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in, | |
| And flunkies to ’tend ye as aft as ye ca’.’ | |
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| ‘My father’s aye tauld me, my mither an a’, | 25 |
| Ye’d mak’ a gude husband, and keep me aye braw: | |
| It’s true I lo’e Johnnie—he’s gude and he’s bonnie, | |
| But, wae’s me! ye ken he has naething ava. | |
| I ha’e little tocher: you’ve made a good offer: | |
| I’m now mair than twenty—my time is but sma’; | 30 |
| Sae, gi’e me your plaidie, I’ll creep in beside ye, | |
| I thocht ye’d been aulder than threescore and twa.’ | |
| |
| She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa’. | |
| Where Johnnie was list’ning, and heard her tell a’; | |
| The day was appointed: his proud heart it dunted, | 35 |
| And strack ’gainst his side as if bursting in twa. | |
| He wandered hame weary: the night it was dreary; | |
| And, thowless, he tint his gate ’mang the deep snaw: | |
| The owlet was screamin’; while Johnnie cried, ‘Women | |
| Wad marry Auld Nick if he’d keep them aye braw!’ | 40 |
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