My mither's ay glowran o'er me, Tho' she did the same before me, I canna get leave To look to my love Or else she'll be like to devour me. Right fain wad I tak ye'r offer Sweet Sir, but I'll tine my tocher; Then, Sandy, ye'll fret, And wyte ye'r poor Kate, Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer. For tho' my father has plenty of siller and plenishing dainty, Yet he's unco sweer To twin wi his gear And sae we had need to be tenty. Tutor my parents wi' caution, Be wylie in ilka motion, Brag weel o' ye'r land, And there's my leal hand, Win them, I'll be at your devotion.
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