 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY
Chorus
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,Ye wadna been sae shy!
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.
I
Yestreen I met you on the moor,Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure!
Ye geck at me because I'm poor—
But fient a hair care I!
II
When comin hame on Sunday last,Upon the road as I cam past,
Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast—
But, trowth, I care't na by!
III
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
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IV
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows onie saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high!
V
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
VI
But if he hae the name o' gear,Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear
Be better than the kye.
VII
But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice:Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice,
The Deil a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
VIII
There lives a lass beside yon park,I'd rather hae her in her sark
Than you wi' a' your thousand mark,
That gars you look sae high.
39
Chorus
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,Ye wadna been sae shy!
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |