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Poem by Allan Ramsay
My mither's ay glowran o'er me, Tho she did the same before me, I canna get leave To look to my loove, Or else she'll be like to devour me. Right fain wad I take ye'r offer, Sweet Sir, but I'll tine my tocher, Then, Sandy, ye'll fret, And wyt ye'r poor Kate, When e'er ye keek in your toom coffer. For tho my father has plenty Of siller and plenishing dainty, Yet he's unco sweer To twin wi' his gear, And sae we had need to be tenty. Tutor my parents wi' caution, Be wylie in ilka motion, Brag well o' ye'r land, And there's my leal hand, Win them, I'll be at your devotion.
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