The Lasses Of Carel Poem by Robert Anderson

The lasses o' Carel are weel shep'd, and bonny,
But he that wad win yen mun brag of his gear;
You may follow, and follow, till heart--sick and weary,
To get them needs siller, and feyne claes to wear:
They'll catch at a reed cwoat, leyke as monie mackrel,
And jump at a fop, or e'en lissen a fuil;
Just brag of an uncle, that's got heaps of money,
And deil a bit ods, if you've ne'er been at schuil!

I yence follow'd Marget, the twoast amang aw maks,
And Peg hed a red cheek, and bonny dark ee;
But suin as she fan I depended on labour,
She snurl'd up her neb, and nae mair luik'd at me:
This meks my words gud, nobbet brag o' yer uncle,
And get a peer hawf--wit to trumpet yer praise,
You may catch whee you will, they'll caress ye, and bless ye--
It's money, nit merit, they seek now--a--days!

I neist follow'd Nelly, and thowt her an angel,
And she thowt me aw that a mortal sud be;
A rich whupper--snapper just stept in atween us,
Nae words efter that pass'd atween Nell and me:
This meks my words gud, nobbet brag o' yer uncle,
They'll feght, ay leyke mad cats, to win yer sly smeyle;
And watch ye, to catch ye, now gazin' and praisin',
They're angels to luik at, wi' hearts full o' geyle!