Gwordie Gill Poem by Robert Anderson

Of aw the lads I see or ken,
There's yen I like abuin the rest;
He's neycer in his war day duds,
Than others donn'd in aw their best.
A bodys' heart's a body's awn,
And they may gi'e't to whea they will;
Had I got ten where I ha'e neane,
I'd gi'e them aw to Gwordie Gill.

Whea was't that brak our landlword' garth,
For me, when bairns we went to schuil?
Whea was't durst venture mid--thie deep,
To get my clog out o' the puil?
And when the filly flang me off,
And lang and lang I laid sae ill,
Whea was't gowl'd owre me day and neet,
And wish'd me weel? 'Twas Gwordie Gill.

Oft mounted on his lang--tail'd naig,
Wi' seyne new buits up till his knee,
The laird's daft son leets i' the faul,
And keaves as he wad wurry me;
Tho' fadder, mudder, uncle tui.
To wed this maz'lin teaze me still,
I hear of aw his lan and brass,
But oft steal out to Gwordie Gill.

Frae Carel cousin Fanny com,
And brong her whey--feac'd sweetheart down,
Wi' sark--neck stuck abuin his lugs,
A peer clipt dimment frae the town:
He minc'd and talk'd, and skipp'd and walk'd,
But tir'd a gang in up the hill,
And luik'd as pale as onie corp,
Compar'd to rwosie Gwordie Gill.

My Gwordie's whussle weel I ken,
Lang ere we meet, the darkest neet;
And when he lilts and sings skewball,
Nit playhouse music's hawf sae sweet.
A body's heart's a body's awn,
And they may gi'e't to whea they will;
I yence had yen, now I ha'e neane,
For it belangs to Gwordie Gill.