No More Learning

O wha will buy the groanin' maut?
O wha will tell me how to ca't?
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

III.

When I mount the creepie chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair,
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

IV.

Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will make me fidgin' fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again? --
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

* * * * *




XIII.

MY HEART WAS ANCE.

Tune--"_To the weavers gin ye go. _"

["The chorus of this song," says Burns, in his note to the Museum, "is
old, the rest is mine.
" The "bonnie, westlin weaver lad" is said to
have been one of the rivals of the poet in the affection of a west
landlady. ]


I.

My heart was ance as blythe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.
To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;
I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.

II.

My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.

III.

A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.

IV.

I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And ay I ca'd it roun';
But every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.

V.

The moon was sinking in the west
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.

VI.

But what was said, or what was done,
Shame fa' me gin I tell;
But, oh! I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel.
To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;
I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.