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Poem by Robert Burns

* * *

THERES news, lasses, news,
  Gude news Ive to tell!
Theres a boat fu o lads
  Come to our town to sell.
    The wean wants a cradle,
      An the cradle wants a cod.
    An Ill no gang to my bed
      Until I get a nod.

Father, quo she, Mither, quo she,
  Do what ye can,
Ill no gang to my bed
  Till I get a man.
    I hae as gude a craft rig
      As made o yird and stane;
    And waly fa the ley-crap
      For I maun tilld again.

                      Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Scroggam
  2. Lines Written on a Bank-note
  3. Lines Written at Loudon Manse
  4. To Alex Cunningham, Writer
  5. How Lang And Dreary

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