The Cyard's Coortin'

He hawked a puckle pots an' pans,
Till — scunnered o' the wark,
He timmered up the kindlin'
Till the swat ran doon his sark
Syne he wat his whussle freely
Frae a coggie keepit handy
An' thochties turned — as thochties will —
Tae blythesome houghmagandie.

The larik at the lochan's brim
Wis warslin' i' the win's
The burnie boundin' doon the brae
Cam' splytrin' ower the linns
A hale clanjamphry o' doos
Reviled him for his sins...
Bit a' the gangrel cared aboot
Wis coortin' i' the whins.

There's nae a cyard that wauks the road
Bit harkens till the kimmer
The lassie he'd a notion for
Wis noted as a limmer
Ye can tak' a horse tae watter,
Bit ye canna gar it drink
An' there's mair tae winnin' lassies
Than b' tippin' them the wink.

The warmest hopes o' laird an' loon
Are aften quickly cweeled
An' for a' his airt, an' guilin'
Weel, his wooin' wis repeeled
She rammed his bunnet ower his lugs
An' pulverised his shins
An' yon's the recompense he got
For coortin' i' the whins.

If yer lookin' for a moral —
Niver lippen till the clack
Jist tak fowk as ye fin' them —
Dinna mak' the cyard's mistak.

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