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Poem by Robert Burns * * * WHA is that at my bower door? O wha is it but Findlay? Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be here! Indeed maun I, quo’ Findlay. What mak ye sae like a thief? O come and see, quo’ Findlay; Before the morn ye’ll work mischief; Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay. Gif I rise and let you in; Let me in, quo’ Findlay; Ye’ll keep me waukin wi’ your din; Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay. In my bower if ye should stay; Let me stay, quo’ Findlay; I fear ye’ll bide till break o’ day; Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay. Here this night if ye remain; I’ll remain, quo’ Findlay; I dread ye’ll learn the gate again; Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay. What may pass within this bower- Let it pass, quo’ Findlay; Ye maun conceal till your last hour; Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay. 1784 Robert Burns Robert Burns's other poems:
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