Robert Anderson

Dick Watters

O, Jenny! Jenny! where's tou been?
Thy fadder is just mad at tee;
He seed somebody i' the croft,
And gulders as he'd wurry me.
O monie are a mudder's whopes,
And monie are a mudder's fears,
And monie a bitter, bitter pang,
Beath suin and leate her bosom tears!


We brong thee up, pat thee to schuil,
And clead te weel as peer fwok can;
We larn'd thee beath to dance and read,
But now tou's crazy for a man.
O, monie are, &c.


When tou was young, and at my knee,
I dwoated on thee, day and neet;
But now tou's rakin, rakin still,
And niver, niver i' my seet.
O, monie are, &c.


Tou's proud, and past aw guid adveyce-
Yen mud as weel speak till a stean;
Still, still thy awn way reet or wrang-
Mess, but tou'll rue't when I am geane!
O, monie are, &c.


Dick Watters, I ha'e tel't thee oft,
Ne'er means to be a son o' mine;
He seeks thy ruin, sure as deeth,
Then like Bet Baxter tou may whine.
O, monie are, &c.


Thy fadder's comin frae the croft,
A bonny hunsup faith he'll mek;
Put on thy clogs and auld blue brat-
Heaste, Jenny! heaste! he lifts the sneck!
O, monie are a mudder's whopes,
And monie are a mudder's fears,
And monie a bitter, bitter pang,
Beath suin and leate, her bosom bears!