Classic Poem

There waur aucht an forty nobles rade to the king's ha,
But bonnie Glenlogie was the flour o them a'.

There waur aucht an forty nobles rade to the king's dine,
But bonnie Glenlogie was the flour o thrice nine.

Bonnie Jeanie Melville cam trippin doun the stair,
An whan she saw Glenlogie her hairt it grew sair.

. . . . . . . . . .
‘He 's of the gay Gordons, his name it is John.’

‘Oh, Logie! Oh, Logie! Oh, Logie!’ said she,
‘If I get na Glenlogie, I surely will dee.’

He turned him aboot, as the Gordons do a',
Says, I thank you, Lady Jeanie, but I 'm promised awa.

She called on her maidens her hands for to take,
An the rings from her fingers she did them a' break.

‘Oh, what is my lineage, or what is my make.
That such a fine lady suld dee for my sake?’

Such a pretty wedding, as I have been told,
An bonnie Jeanie Melville was scarce sixteen years old.