Classic Poem

Gin ye meet a bonny lassie,
Gi'e her a kiss, and let her gae;
But if ye meet a dirty hussy,
Fy gar rub her o'er wi' strae.

Be sure ye dinna quat the grip
Of ilka joy, when ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,
And lay ye twafald o'er a rung.

Sweet youth 's a blyth and heartsome time;
Then, lads and lasses, while 'tis May,
Gae pu' the gowan in its prime,
Before it wither and decay.

Watch the saft minutes of delyte,
When Jenny speaks beneath her breath,
And kisses, laying a' the wyte
On you, if she kepp ony skaith.

“Haith, ye 're ill-bred,” she 'll smiling say,
“Ye 'll worry me, ye greedy rook.”
Syne frae your arms she 'll rin away,
And hide herself in some dark nook.

Her laugh will lead you to the place,
Where lies the happiness ye want,
And plainly tell you to your face,
Nineteen na-says are half a grant.

Now to her heaving bosom cling,
And sweetly toolie for a kiss;
Frae her fair finger whoop a ring,
As taiken of a future bliss.

These bennisons, I 'm very sure,
Are of the gods' indulgent grant:
Then, surly carles, whisht, forbear
To plague us with your whining cant.