Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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LOO ME LITTLE AND LOO ME LANG. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
95
LOO ME LITTLE AND LOO ME LANG.
Young Mary, jimply out nineteen,
Cam' blithely singin' adown the vale;
Few maids in Scotland wide, I ween,
Could match this lass wi' her milkin' pail.
Her face was as fresh as the flowers in May,
Wi' voice like the lark she lilted and sang;
And aye the burden o' her lay,
Was—loo me little, and loo me lang.
Cam' blithely singin' adown the vale;
Few maids in Scotland wide, I ween,
Could match this lass wi' her milkin' pail.
Her face was as fresh as the flowers in May,
Wi' voice like the lark she lilted and sang;
And aye the burden o' her lay,
Was—loo me little, and loo me lang.
Blithe Robin wad me woo yestreen,
As I cam' hame frae the milkin' shiel;
He tauld me I had twa bewitchin' een,
And roosed my cheeks and my hair fu' weel.
He vow'd that he liked me best ava,
And to kiss me, his arms around my neck flang;
Half fun, half earnest, I cried—gae away!
Come—loo me little, and loo me lang.
As I cam' hame frae the milkin' shiel;
He tauld me I had twa bewitchin' een,
And roosed my cheeks and my hair fu' weel.
He vow'd that he liked me best ava,
And to kiss me, his arms around my neck flang;
Half fun, half earnest, I cried—gae away!
Come—loo me little, and loo me lang.
When wand'rin' through the birks last week,
Young winsome Willie I chanced to meet;
He, bowin', advanced wi' a tale fu' sleek,
And said that I was to his min' complete.
He roosed me for virtue, for beauty, and wit,
And syne to my praise he chanted a sang;
But I left the poor havrel whene'er I thocht fit,
Sayin'—loo me little, and loo me lang,
Young winsome Willie I chanced to meet;
He, bowin', advanced wi' a tale fu' sleek,
And said that I was to his min' complete.
He roosed me for virtue, for beauty, and wit,
And syne to my praise he chanted a sang;
But I left the poor havrel whene'er I thocht fit,
Sayin'—loo me little, and loo me lang,
But guess ye what now mak's me bonny and braw,
And guess ye what now gi'es me virtue and wit,
And guess ye what brings me the blithe wooers a',
Wha ance wadna lifted me at their fit.
My uncle is auld, and his bairns are a' dead—
He has bound me with gear, which has alter'd the sang;
But Jamie alane is the lad I will wed,
For he's looed me muckle, and looed me lang.
And guess ye what now gi'es me virtue and wit,
And guess ye what brings me the blithe wooers a',
Wha ance wadna lifted me at their fit.
My uncle is auld, and his bairns are a' dead—
He has bound me with gear, which has alter'd the sang;
But Jamie alane is the lad I will wed,
For he's looed me muckle, and looed me lang.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |