THE widow can bake, and the widow can brew,
The widow can shape, and the widow can sew,
And mony braw things the widow can do;
Then have at the widow my ladie.
With courage attack her baith early and late,
To kiss her and clap her ye mauna be blate;
Speak well and do better, for that’s the best gate
To win a young widow, my ladie.
The widow she’s youthfu’, and never a hair
The har of the wearing, and has a good skair
Of every thing lovely; she’s witty and fair,
And has a rich jointure, my ladie.
What cou’d ye wish better your pleasure to crown,
Than a widow, the boniest toast in the town,
With naithing, but draw in your stool and sit down,
And sport with the widow, my ladie?
Then till’er and kill’er with courtesie dead,
Tho’ stark love and kindness be all ye can plead;
Be heartsome and airy, and hope to succeed,
With a bonny gay widow, my ladie.
Strike iron while ‘tis het, if ye’d have it to wald,
For fortune ay favours the active and bauld,
But ruins the woer that’s thowless and cauld,
Unfit for the widow, my ladie.