To the Tune of, A Rock and a wee pickle Tow.
I Have a green purse and a wee pickle gowd,
A bonny piece land and planting on’t,
It fattens my flocks, and my bairns it has stow’d;
But the best thing of a’s yet wanting on’t.
To grace it, and trace it,
And gie me delight;
To bless me, and kiss me,
And comfort my sight,
With beauty by day, and kindness by night,
And nae mair my lane gang sauntring on’t.
My Christy she’s charming and good as she’s fair;
Her een and her mouth are inchanting sweet,
She smiles me on fire, her frowns gie despair:
I love while my heart gaes panting wi’t.
Thou fairest, and dearest,
Delight of my mind,
Whose gracious embraces
By heaven were design’d,
For happiest transports, and blesses resin’d,
Nae langer delay thy granting sweet.
For thee, bonny Christy, my shepherds and hynds,
Shall carefully make the years dainties thine:
Thus freed frae laigh care, while love fills our minds,
Our days shall with pleasure and plenty shine.
Then hear me, and chear me,
With smiling consent,
Believe me, and give me
No cause to lament,
Since I ne’er can be happy, till thou say, content,
I’m pleas’d with my Jamie, and he shall be mine.