Robert Burns

The Poet’s Welcome to His Love-Begotten Daughter

THOU’S welcome, wean! mishanter fa’ me,
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy,
Shall ever daunton me, or awe me,
    My sweet wee lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’ me
    Tit-ta or daddy.

Wee image of my bonnie Betty,
I fatherly will kiss and daut thee,
As dear an’ near my heart I set thee
    Wi’ as guid will,
As a’ the priests had seen me get thee
    That’s out o’ hell.

What tho’ they ca’ me, fornicator,
An’ tease my name in kintra clatter:
The mair they talk I’m kent the better,
    E’en let them clash;
An auld wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter
    To gie ane fash.

Welcome, my bonnie, sweet wee dochter-
Tho’ ye come here a wee unsought for,
An’ tho’ your comin’ I hae fought for
    Barth kirk an’ queir;
Yet, by my faith, ye’re no unwrought for!
    That I shall swear!

Sweet fruit o’ mony a merry dint,
My funny toil is now a’ tint,
Sin’ thou came to the warl asklent,
    Which fools may scoff at;
In my last plack thy part’s be in’t-
    The better half o’t.

An’ if thou be what I wad hae thee,
An’ tak the counsel I shall gie thee,
A lovin’ father I’ll be to thee,
    If thou be spar’d;
Thro’ a’ thy childish years I’ll ee thee,
    An’ think’t weel war’d.

Tho’ I should be the waur bested,
Thou’s be as braw an’ bienly clad,
An’ thy young years as nicely bred
    Wi’ education,
As ony brat o’ wedlock’s bed
    In a’ thy station.

Gude grant that thou may aye inherit
Thy mither’s person, grace, an’ merit,
An’ thy poor worthless daddy’s spirit,
    Without his failins;
‘Twill please me mair to see and hear o’t,
    Than stockit mailins.