Classic Poem

Thae een o' yours are bonnie blue,
An' O! they sparkle sae
That I maun look, an' I maun love,
Until my heart grow wae.

They jewels seem o' meikle price,
Aneath the dark e'ebree:
Ilk glance frae them gangs through my heart,—
O! they winna let me be.

Thae lips o' yours are cherries twa;
But floutin' words they speak;
An' ahint the door o' cauld disdain
My heart I canna' steek,
Your bonnie een an' your jeerin' words
Are ever grievin' me:
Ye cuttie quean! it's an awfu' thing
That you winna let me be.

Whene'er I sleep I dream o' thee,
An' o' thy bonnie face;
I think nae then o' your scornfu' ways,
Ye little scant-o'-grace!
To break a truthfu' heart like mine
Is the height of crueltie;
Ye've gi'en it monie a fearfu' stound,
For ye winna let me be.

But I ha'e gotten a wylie plan
To haud ye out o' ill:
The holy priest—ye needna laugh;
Your mirth I wot he'll spill:
He'll say the fearsome words, that one
Will make o' you an' me;
An' then you'll plague your bonnie sel'
If ye winna let me be!