written in 1792
In simmer when the hay was mawn, And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the lea, And roses blaw in ilka beild; Blythe Bessie, in the milkin-shiel, Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will; Outspak a dame in wrinkled eild, O' gude advisement comes nae ill. Its ye hae wooers mony ane, And lassie, ye're but young ye ken; Then wait a wee, and canie wale, A routhie butt, a routhie ben: There's Johnie o' the Buskieglen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; Take this frae me, my bonie hen, It's plenty beets the luver's fire. For Johnie o' the Buskieglen, I dinna care a single flie; He loes sae weel his craps and kye, He has nae love to spare for me: But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, And weel I wat he loes me dear; Ae blink o' him I wad na gie For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, The canniest gate, the strife is sair; But aye fu' - han't is fechtin' best, A hungry care's an unco care: But some will spend and some will spare, An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. O gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye; But the tender heart o' leesome loove, The gowd and siller canna buy; We may be poor, Robie and I, Light is the burden Loove lays on; Content and Loove brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne.