The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Gracie Miller.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Gracie Miller.
“Little, queer bit auld body,
Whar ye gaun sae late at e'en?
Sic a massy auld body
I saw never wi' my e'en.”
“I'm gaun to court the bonniest lass
That ever stepp'd in leather shoe.”
“But little shabby auld body,
Where's the lass will look at you?
Whar ye gaun sae late at e'en?
Sic a massy auld body
I saw never wi' my e'en.”
“I'm gaun to court the bonniest lass
That ever stepp'd in leather shoe.”
“But little shabby auld body,
Where's the lass will look at you?
“Ere I war kiss'd wi' ane like you,
Or sic a man cam to my bed,
I'd rather kiss the hawkit cow,
An' in my bosom tak a taed.
Wha ever weds wi' sic a stock
Will be a gibe to a' the lave:
Little, stupit auld body,
Rather think upon your grave.”
Or sic a man cam to my bed,
I'd rather kiss the hawkit cow,
An' in my bosom tak a taed.
Wha ever weds wi' sic a stock
Will be a gibe to a' the lave:
Little, stupit auld body,
Rather think upon your grave.”
“But I'm sae deep in love wi' ane,
I'll wed or die, it maks na whether:
Oh! she's the prettiest, sweetest queen
That ever brush'd the dew frae heather!
The fairest Venus ever drawn
Is naething but a bogle till her;
She's fresher than the morning dawn,
An' hark—her name is Gracie Miller.”
I'll wed or die, it maks na whether:
Oh! she's the prettiest, sweetest queen
That ever brush'd the dew frae heather!
The fairest Venus ever drawn
Is naething but a bogle till her;
She's fresher than the morning dawn,
An' hark—her name is Gracie Miller.”
She rais'd her hands; her e'en they reel'd,
Then wi' a skirl outo'er she fell;
An' aye she leuch, an' aye she squeel'd,
“Hey, mercy! body, that's mysel'!”
Then down he hurkled by her side,
An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her;
An' whiles she leuch, an' whiles she sigh'd,
An' lean'd her head upon his shoulder.
Then wi' a skirl outo'er she fell;
An' aye she leuch, an' aye she squeel'd,
“Hey, mercy! body, that's mysel'!”
Then down he hurkled by her side,
An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her;
An' whiles she leuch, an' whiles she sigh'd,
An' lean'd her head upon his shoulder.
“O pity me, my bonnie Grace!
My words are true, ye needna doubt 'em;
Nae man can see your bonnie face
An' keep his senses a' about him.”
“Troth, honest man, I ken'd langsyne
Nae ither lass could equal wi' me;
But yet the brag sae justly mine
Was tint, till you hae chanc'd to see me.
My words are true, ye needna doubt 'em;
Nae man can see your bonnie face
An' keep his senses a' about him.”
“Troth, honest man, I ken'd langsyne
Nae ither lass could equal wi' me;
But yet the brag sae justly mine
Was tint, till you hae chanc'd to see me.
“Though ye want yudith, gear, an' mense,
Ye hae a dash o' amorous fire;
Ye hae good taste, an' sterling sense,
An' ye sal hae your heart's desire.”
Oh, woman! woman! after death,
If that vain nature still is given,
An' deils get leave to use their breath,
They'll flatter ye into hell frae heaven.
Ye hae a dash o' amorous fire;
Ye hae good taste, an' sterling sense,
An' ye sal hae your heart's desire.”
Oh, woman! woman! after death,
If that vain nature still is given,
An' deils get leave to use their breath,
They'll flatter ye into hell frae heaven.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |