“Miserarum est neque amori ludum neque dilci
Mala vino lavere, ant exanimari metuentes
Patruæ verbera linguæ.” – CAR. III., 12.
‘OD, Meenie, but I’m vext for ye!
A lad could better thole, ye see,
The pangs o’ love unspoken,
For he could speak, an’ he could pree
A gless hooe’er hert broken!
–
But you, puir wumman” need to bide
Tongue-tied aboot the ingleside,
Baith dowff an’ dowie, hearin’
Girnin’ auld Nance, as gleg as gley’d,
Your ailment sweetly speirin’!
–
‘Deed, Donal’ is a stately chiel’!
There’s no’ a keeper in Lochiel
Sae brisk-like or sae daurin’;
Gin ye should wale a lad, atweel
Ye micht hae waled a waur ane!
–
The loch he’ll soum to conquer there
The stag that stands in fierce despair
‘Mang seggs sae eerie soughin’!
He’ll rouse the wild cat fra her lair
To mak’ o’ her a spleuchan!
–
In fack he is a wiselike lad:
But mony as gude are to be had;
An’ ye maun mind, my dawtie,
Tho’ Nance is an ill-natured jaud,
Ye’ve been a wee thing fauty.
–
When dreigh an’ dreary doun ye sit,
Up wi’ your wires, an’ knit, an’ knit, –
Ye’d wonder, withoot jokin,’
Hoo muckle ravell’d care ye’ll pit
Awa’ into a stockin’!