Hector Macneill

Come under My Plaidie; Or, Modern Marriage Delineated

Come under my plaidie, the nicht's gaun to fa';
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw;
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw;
O! come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie! believe me, for twa.

Gae wa' wi' your plaidie! auld Donald, gae wa',
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw;
Gae wa' wi' your plaidie! I'll no sit beside ye;
Ye may be my gutcher :-- auld Donald, gae' wa',
I'm gau'n to meet Johnie, he's young and he's bonnie;
He's been at Meg's bridal, sae trig and sae braw!
O nane dances sae lightly! sae gracefu'! sae tightly!
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow like the snaw!

'Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast tae the wa',
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back,
He's thretty, and I am but three'core and twa.
Be frank now, and kindly; I'll busk ye aye finely;
To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw;
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And flunkies to tend ye as aft as ye ca'.

'My faither aye tauld me, my mither, an' a',
Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me aye braw;
It's true I loo Johnie, he's gude and he's bonie.
But wae's me ! ye ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher; ye've made a gude offer;
I'm na mair than twenty; my time is but sma'!
Sae gi' me your plaidie, I'll creep in beside ye,
I thocht ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.'

She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa',
Whar Johnie was list'ning, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed! his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa.
He wander'd hame weary, the nicht it was dreary!
And thowless, he tint his gate deep 'mang the snaw;
The howlet was screamin', while Johnie cried 'women
Wa'd marry auld nick if he'd keep them aye bra'.

O the deel's in the lasses! they gang now sae bra',
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa;
The hale o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage;
Plain luve is the cauldest blast now that can blaw!