Robert Burns

I’m Owre Young to Marry Yet

I AM my mammie’s ae bairn,
  Wi’ unco folk I weary, Sir;
And lying in a man’s bed,
  I’m fley’d wad mak me eerie, Sir.

    I’m owre young, I’m owre young,
      I’m owre young to marry yet;
    I’m owre young, ‘twad be a sin
      To tak me frae my mammie yet.

My mammie coft me a new gown,
  The kirk maun hae the gracing o’t;
Were I to lie wi’ you, kind Sir,
  I’m fear’d ye’d spoil the lacing o’t.

Hallowmas is come and gane,
  The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
And you an’ I in ae bed,
  In troth I dare na venture, Sir.

Fu’ loud and shrill the frosty wind
  Blaws thro’ the leafless timmer, Sir;
But if ye come this gate again,
  I’ll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.