Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/525

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THE AULD GOOD-MAN.
507
He.
Thy auld good-man, that thou tells of, The country kens where he was born,Was but a silly poor vagabond, And ilka aue leugh him to scorn.For he did spend and make an end Of routh of gear his fathers wan;He gart the poor stand frae the door; Sae tell nae mair of thy auld good-man.
She.
My heart, alake! is liken to break, When I think on my winsome John,His blinken e'e, and gait sae free, Was naething like thee, thou dozent drone;Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, And skin as white as any swan,He was large and tall, and comely withal, Thou'lt never be like mine auld good-man.
He.
Why dost thou 'plain? I thee maintain; For meal and mawt thou disna want:But thy wild bees I canna please, Now whan our gear 'gins to grow scant;Of household stuff thou hast enough; Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;Of siclike ware he left thee bare: Sae tell nae mair of thy auld good-man.
She.
Yes I may tell, and fret mysel', To think on those blyth days I had,Whan I and he together lay In arms into a well-made bed:But now I sigh and may be sad; Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,Thou faids thy feet, and fa's asleep; Thou'lt never be like mine auld good-man.
Then coming was the night sae dark, And gane was a' the light of day;The carle was feared to miss his mark, And therefore wad nae longer stay;
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