To the Tune of, The Kirk wad let me be.
I Was anes a well tocher’d lass,
My mither left dollars to me;
But now I’m brought to a poor pass,
My step-dame has gart them flee.
My father he’s aften frae hame,
And she plays the deel with his gear;
She neither has lateth nor shame,
And keeps the hale house in a steer.
She’s barmy fac’d, thriftless and bauld,
And gars me aft fret and repine;
While hungry, haf naked and cauld,
I see her destroy what’s mine:
But soon I might hope a revenge,
And soon of my sorrows be free,
My poortooth to plenty wad change,
If she were hung up on a tree.
Quoth Ringan, wha lang time had loo’d
This bonny lass tenderly,
I’ll take thee, sweet May, in thy snood,
Gif thou wilt gae hame with me.
‘Tis only your sell that I want,
Your kindness is better to me,
Than a’ that your step-mother, scant
Of grace, now has taken frae thee.
I’m but a young farmer, its true,
And ye are the sprout of a laird;
But I have milk-cattle enow,
And rowth of good rucks in my yard,
Ye sall have naithing to fash ye,
Sax servants sall jouk to thee:
Then kilt up thy coats, my lassie,
And gae thy ways hame with me.
The maiden her reason imploy’d,
Not thinking the offer amiss,
Consented; – while Ringan o’erjoy’d,
Receiv’d her with mony a kiss.
And now she sits blythly singan,
And joking her drunken step-dame,
Delighted with her dear Ringan,
That makes her good-wife at hame.