Winter was cauld, and my Cleathing was thin.
Sung by Peggy and Patie, p. 30.
WHen first my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
And I at ew-milking first seyd my young skill,
To bear the milk-bowie, nae pain was to me,
When I at the bughting forgather’d with thee.
When corn-riggs wav’d yellow, and blew hether –
Bloom’d bonny on moorland and sweet rising fells,
Nae birns, brier, or breckens, gave trouble to me,
If I found the berries right ripen’d for thee
When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane,
And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain:
Thy ilka sport manly, gave pleasure to me;
For nane can put, wrestle or run swift as thee.
Our Jenny sings safely the Cowden Broom-Knows,
And Rosie lilts sweetly the milking the ews;
There’s few Jenny Nettles like Nansy can sing,
At throw the wood laddie, Bess gars our lugs ring:
But when my dear Peggy sings with better skill,
The boat-man, tweed-side, or the lass of the mill,
‘Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me;
For tho’ they sing nicely they cannot like thee.
How easy can lasses trow what they desire?
And praises sae kindly increases love’s fire;
Give me still this pleasure my study shall be
To make myself better and sweeter for thee.