In simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka beild;
Blythe Bessie, in the milkin-shiel,
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
Outspak a dame in wrinkled eild,
O' gude advisement comes nae ill.
Its ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and canie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnie o' the Buskieglen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Take this frae me, my bonie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire.
For Johnie o' the Buskieglen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He loes sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae love to spare for me:
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,
And weel I wat he loes me dear;
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.
O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu' - han't is fechtin' best,
A hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
O gear will buy me rigs o' land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome loove,
The gowd and siller canna buy;
We may be poor, Robie and I,
Light is the burden Loove lays on;
Content and Loove brings peace and joy,
What mair hae queens upon a throne.