"
"This is nae change-hoose, John Munro,
And ye needna come nae mair:
Ye crookit yer mou', and lichtlied me,
Last Wednesday, at the fair."
"I lichtlied ye!" "Aboon the glass."
"Foul-fa' the ill-faured mouth
That made the leein' word to pass,
By rowin' 't (wrapping) in the truth.
The fac' was this: I dochtna bide
To hear yer bonnie name,
Whaur muckle mous war opened wide
Wi' lawless mirth and shame.
And a' I said was: 'Hoot! lat sit;
She's but a bairn, the lass.'
It turned the spait (flood) o' words a bit,
And loot yer fair name pass."
"Thank ye for naething, John Munro!
My name can gang or bide;
It's no a sough o' drucken words
Wad turn my heid aside."
"O Elsie, lassie o' my ain!
The drift is cauld and strang;
O tak me in ae hour, and syne
I'll gather me and gang."
"Ye're guid at fleechin' (wheedling), Jock Munro.
For ye heedna fause and true:
Gang in to Katie at the Mill,
She lo'es sic like as you."
He turned his fit; he spak nae mair.
The lift was like to fa';
And Elsie's heart grew grit and sair (big and sore),
At sicht o' the drivin' snaw.
She laid her doun, but no to sleep,
For her verra heart was cauld;
And the sheets war like a frozen heap
O' snaw aboot her faul'd.
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