Come under my Plaidie

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;

I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw:

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 fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw!

Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie! I'll no sit beside ye;

Ye micht be my 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!

Nane dances sae lichtly, sae gracefu', or tichtly,

His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!

Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa';

Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava;

The haill o' his pack he has now on his back;

He's thretty, and I am but three score and twa.

Be frank now and kindly—I'll busk ye aye finely;

To kirk or to market there'll few gang sae braw;

A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,

And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.

My father aye tauld me, my mother and a',

Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me aye braw;

It's true, I lo'e Johnnie; he's young and he's bonnie;

But, wae's me! I ken he has naething ava!

I ha'e little tocher; ye've made a gude offer;

I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but sma'!

Sae gi'e me your plaidie; I'll creep in beside ye;

I thocht ye'd been aulder than three score and twa!

She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa',

Whare Johnnie was listnin', and heard her tell a':

The day was appointed!—his proud heart it dunted,

And strack 'gainst his side, as if burstin' in twa.

He wander'd hame wearie, the nicht it was drearie,

And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw:

The howlet was screaming, while Johnnie cried, Women

Wad marry auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.

O, the deil's in the lasses! they gang now sae braw,

They'll lie down wi' auld men o' four score and twa;

The haill o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage;

Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw.

Auld dotards, be wary! tak' tent wha you marry;

Young wives, wi' their coaches, they'll whip and they'll ca',

Till they meet wi' some Johnnie that's youthfu' and bonnie,

And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk haffet to claw.