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Poem by Robert Anderson


Young Susy


Young Susy is a bonny lass,
A canny lass, a teydey lass,
A mettled lass, a hearty lass,
As onie yen can see;
A clean--heel'd lass, a weel--spok lass,
A buik--larn'd lass, a kurk--gawn lass,
I watena how it com to pass,
She's meade a fuil o' me.

I's tir'd o' workin, plowin, sowin,
Deeting, deykin, threshin, mowin;
Seeghin, greanin, never knowin
What I's gawn to de.
I met her--aye, 'twas this day week!
Od die! thought I, I'll try to speak;
But tried in vain the teale to seek,
For sec a lass is she!

Her jet black hair hawf heydes her brow,
Her een just thirl yen thro' and thro'--
But, Oh! her cheeks and churry mou
Are far owre sweet to see!
I's tir'd o' workin, &c.

Oh, cud I put her in a sang!
To hear her praise the heale day lang,
She mud consent to kurk to gang;
There's puirer fwok than me!
But I can nowther rhyme nor rave,
Luive meks yen sec a coward slave;
I'd better far sleep i' my grave--
But, Oh! that munnet be!

I's tir'd o' workin, plowin, sowin,
Deetin, deykin, threshin, mowin,
Seeghin, greanin, never knowin
What I's gawn to de. 



Robert Anderson


Robert Anderson's other poems:
  1. Britannias Call
  2. The Happy Family
  3. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
  4. Epistle the Tenth
  5. Feckless Wully


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