The Bashfu’ Wooer Poem by Robert Anderson

Whene'er ye come to woo me, Tom,
Dnnnet at the window tap,
Or cough, or hem, or gi'e a clap,
To let my fadder hear, man;
He's auld and fealed, and wants his sleep,
Sae by the hallan softly creep,
Ye need nae watch, and glower, and peep,
I'll meet ye, niver fear, man:
If a lassie ye wad win,
Be chearfu' iver, bashfu' niver;
Ilka Jock may get a Jen,
If he hes sense to try, man.

Whene'er we at the market meet,
Dunnet luik like yen hawf daft,
O talk about the cauld and heat,
As ye were weather--wise, man;
Haud up yer head, and bauldly speak,
And keep the blushes frae yer cheek,
For he whee hes his teale to seek,
We lasses aw despise, man:
If a lassie, &c.

I met ye leately, aw yer leane,
Ye seemed like yen stown frae the dead,
Yer teeth e'en chattered i' yer head,
But ne'er a word o' luive, man;
I spak, ye luik'd annudder way,
Then trimmel'd as ye'd got a flay,
And owre yer shou'der cried `guid day,'
Nor yence to win me, struive, man:
If a lassie, &c.

My aunty left me threesewore pun,
But De'il a ven of aw the men,
Till then, did bare--legg'd Elcy ken,
Or care a strae for me, man;
Now, tiggin at me suin and late,
They're cleekin but the yellow bait;
Yet, mind me, Tom, I needn't wait,
When I ha'e choice o' three, man:
If a lassie, &c.

There lives a lad owre yonder muir,
He hes nae fau't but yen--he's puir;
Whene'er we meet, wi' kisses sweet,
He's like to be my deeth, man;
And there's a lad ahint yon trees,
Wad weade for me abuin the knees;
Sae tell yer mind, or, if ye please,
Nae langer fash us beath, man:
If a lassie, &c.