THE LAD I’ THE MUNE

O gin I lived i’ the gowden mune

Like the mannie that smiles at me,

I'd sit a’ nicht in my hoose abune

An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune,

For I'd sup my brose wi’ a gowden spune

And they wad come out to see!

For weel I ken that the mune's his ain

And he is the maister there;

A’ nicht he's lauchin’, for, fegs, there's nane

To draw the blind on his windy-pane

And tak’ an’ bed him, to lie his lane

And pleasure himsel’ nae mair.

Says I to Grannie, “Keek up the glen

Abune by the rodden tree,

There's a braw lad‘ yont i’ the mune, ye ken.”

Says she, “Awa’ wi’ ye, bairn, gang ben,

For noo it's little I fash wi’ men

An’ it's less that they fash wi’ me!”

When I'm as big as the tinkler-man

That sings i’ the loan a’ day,

I'll bide wi’ him i’ the tinkler-van

Wi’ a wee-bit pot an’ a wee-bit pan;

But I'll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan,

For I dinna ken what she'll say.

And, nicht by nicht, we will a’ convene

And we'll be a cantie three;

We'll lauch an’ crack i’ the loanin’ green,

The kindest billies that ever was seen,

The tinkler-man wi’ his twinklin’ een

And the lad i’ the mune an’ me!