The Lad I' The Mune

By Violet Jacob


    O gin I lived i’ the gowden mune
        Like the mannie that smiles at me,
    I’d sit a’ nicht in my hoose abune
    An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune,
    For I’d sup my brose wi’ a gowden spune
        And they wad come out to see!


    For weel I ken that the mune’s his ain
        And he is the maister there;
    A’ nicht he’s lauchin’, for, fegs, there’s nane
    To draw the blind on his windy-pane
    And tak’ an’ bed him, to lie his lane
        And pleasure himsel’ nae mair.


    Says I to Grannie, “Keek up the glen
        Abune by the rodden tree,
    There’s a braw lad ‘yont i’ the mune, ye ken.”
    Says she, “Awa’ wi’ ye, bairn, gang ben,
    For noo it’s little I fash wi’ men
        An’ it’s less that they fash wi’ me!”


    When I’m as big as the tinkler-man
        That sings i’ the loan a’ day,
    I’ll bide wi’ him i’ the tinkler-van
    Wi’ a wee-bit pot an’ a wee-bit pan;
    But I’ll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan,
        For I dinna ken what she’ll say.


    And, nicht by nicht, we will a’ convene
        And we’ll be a cantie three;
    We’ll lauch an’ crack i’ the loanin’ green,
    The kindest billies that ever was seen,
    The tinkler-man wi’ his twinklin’ een
        And the lad i’ the mune an’ me!

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