“Urit grata protervitas.” – CAR. I., 19.
I’VE nocht to wreak mysel’ upon,
An’ wark I dinna fancy,
Sae I’ll sit doun an’ hae a groan
Aboot my cruel Nancy.
She thraw’d her head when late yestreen
I telt her I was deein’ –
Either she disna care a preen,
Or else she kens I’m leein’.
O Nancy, but your hert’s as hard
An’ cauld as kirkyaird granite;
‘Deed, whyles I think the nicht ill-starr’d
That saw me brak’ wi Janet!
She’s neither cuist me glance o’ grace
Nor shored me ceevil favour;
The wooer’s is a dootfu’ case
That builds on that behavour!
Nae ither lad that awns a dug,
But Sandie, ever socht her –
She flang a leglen at his lug,
As weel’s the nits he brocht her
She hasna tried thir tricks on me;
She’d find it – no’ sae chancy;
An’ that’s what gars me houp to see
My waddin’ day wi’ Nancy!