Janet

I'll mak' a fire upo' the knowe,

An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;

Syne in't I'll ha'e ye burnt, I trow—

Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!

Your een in ilka starn I see—

The hale night lang I dream o' thee—

The bonnie lintie on the lea,

I liken to you, Janet!

When leaves are green, an' fresh an' fair-

When blythe an' sunny is the air—

I stroke my beard, and say they're rare;

But naething like you, Janet!

'Twas but yestreen, as I gaed hame,

The minister said, "What is your name?

My answer—'deed I may think shaime—

Was, "Sir, my name is Janet!"

Last Sabbath, as I sang the psalm,

I fell into an unco dwaum,

An' naething frae my lips e'er cam'

But "Janet! Janet! Janet!"

I've fought, I've danced, an' drucken too;

But nane o' thae are like to do;

Sae I maun come an' speer at you,

"What ails me, think ye, Janet?"

I'll soon be either dead or daft,

Sic drams o' luve frae you I've quaff'd;

Sae lay aside your woman-craft—

Ha'e mercy on me, Janet!

An' if ye winna, there's my loof,

I'll gar the provost lead a proof,

An' pit ye 'neath the tollbooth roof:

Syne what will ye do, Janet?

I'll mak' a fire upo' the knowe,

An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;

Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye burnt, I trow—

Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!