Hector Macneill

O Tell Me How for to Woo

Oh! tell me, bonie young lassie!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Oh tell me, bonie sweet lassie!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
Lips like the roses fresh moisten'd wi' dew?
Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?
Oh! tell me how for to woo!

Far hae I wander'd to see the dear lassie!
Far hae I ventur'd across the saut sea!
Far hae I travell'd owre moorland and mountain,
Houseless, and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea!
Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak luve to onie;
For ne'er loo'd I onie till ance I loo'd you;
Now we're alane in the green-wood sae bonie!
---Oh! tell me how for to woo!'

'What care I for you wand'ring, young laddie!
What care I for your crossing the sea!
It was na for naithing ye left poor young Peggy;
It was for my tocher ye cam to court me;--
Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gawdie?
Ribbaus, and perlins, and breast-knots enew/
A house that is canty, wi' walth in't my laddie?
Without this ye never need try for to woo.'

'I hae nae gowd to busk ye aye gawdie!
I canna buy ribbans and perlins enew!
I've naithing to brag o', house, or o' plenty!
I've little to gie but a heart that is true--
I cam na for tocher -- I ne'er heard o' onie;
I never loo'd Peggy nor e'er brak my vow--
I've wander'd poor fool! for a frace fauce as bonie!
-- I little thought this was the way for to woo!'

'Our laird has fine houses, and guineas in gowpins!
He's youthfu', he's blooming, and comely to see!
The leddies are a' ga'en wood for the wooer,
And yet, ilka e'ening, he leaves them for me!--
O! saft in the gloaming his luve he discloses!
And saftly yestreen, as I milked my cow,
He swore that my breath it was sweeter than roses,
And, a' the gait hame he did naithing but woo.'

'Ah, Jenny! the young laird may brag, o' his sillar,
His houses, his lands, and his lordly degree;
His speeches for true luve may drap as sweet as honey,
But, trust me, dear Jenny! he ne'er loed like me.
The wooing o' gentry are the words o' fashion;
The faster they fa' as the heart is least true!--
The dumb look o' luve's aft the best proof o' passion;
The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo!'

'Hae na ye roos'd my cheeks like the morning!
Hae na ye roos'd my cherry-red mou!
Hae na ye come owre sea, moor, and mountain,
What mair, Johnie, need ye to woo?
Far hae ye wander'd, I ken my dear laddie!
Now that ye've found me, there's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we'll hae plenty -- I'll never gang gawdie.
I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true.'

She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom;
The saft tear o' transport fill'd ilk lover's ee;
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree.
He clasp'd her, he press'd her, and ca'd her his hinny,
And aften he tasted her hinny-sweet mou;
And ay 'tween ilk kiss she sigh'd to her Johnie
'Oh! laddie! -- weel can ye woo!'