Auld Robby Miller Poem by Robert Anderson

Oh, cud I but see the blythe days I ha'e seen,
When I was a lish laughin lass o' sixteen!
Then lads lap around, and said nin was leyke me,
Now they're aw fled away, and I's turn'd thurty--three.
A single leyfe's but a comfortless leyfe,
It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe;
To get a bit body I've tried aw I can--
Waes me for the lassie that can't get a man.

When day--leet's aw geane, and I sit down to spin,
I wish some young fellow wad only step in;
At the market I saunter, and dress at the fair,
But nae lad at peer Keaty a luik will e'er spare.
A single leyfe's but a weary dull leyfe,
It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe;
In vain a peer lassie may try ilka plan,
Caw her rich, and I'll venture she'll suin get a man

There's auld Robby Miller, wi' his siller pow,
Bent double, and canna creep up the hill now;
Tho' steane--deef and tuithless, and bleer--e'ed and aw,
He hes gear, and I's thinking to gi'e him a caw.
A single leyfe's a heart--breakin leyfe,
It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe;
I'll keame his lank locks, and dui what I can--
There's monie a young lassie wad tek an auld man!

He lives aw his leane; but he's surely to bleame,
When a wanter leyke me may be had sae near heame:
Wer we weddet to--morrow, he'd nit be lang here,
Then I'd buy a man to my mind wid his gear:
A single leyfe's a sorrowfu' leyfe,
It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe;
I'll off to auld Robby,--aye, that's the best plan,
And cwoax him, and wed him, the canny auld man.