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. 

1. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
2. The Happy Family
3. Mad Margery
4. Epistle the Tenth
5. Epistle the First

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