My mither's ay glowran o'er me, Though she did the same before me; I canna get leave To look at my love, Or else she'll be like to devour me. Right fain wad I take ye'r offer, Sweet sir, but I'll tine my tocher; Then, Sandy, ye'll fret, And wyte ye'r poor Kate, Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer. For though my father has plenty Of siller and plenishing dainty, Yet he's unco sweer To twin wi' his gear; And sae we hae need to be tenty. Tutor my parents wi' caution, Be wylie in ilka motion; Brag well o' ye'r land, And there's my leal hand; Win them, I'll be at your devotion. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: IN ABSENCE FROM BECCHINA by CECCO ANGIOLIERI DA SIENA THE PITY OF IT by THOMAS HARDY TO DIANEME (1) by ROBERT HERRICK EPIGRAM: 118. ON GUT by BEN JONSON DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT: NASCENT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE |