SONG.
AT E'ENING, WHAN THE KYE WAR IN.
At e'ening whan the kye war in,
An' lasses milking thrang,
A neebour laird cam ben the byre,
The busy maids amang.
He stood ahint the routin' kye
An' round him glowered a wee,
Then stole to whar young Peggy sat,
The milkpail at her knee.
"Sweet Peggy, lass," thus spoke the laird,
"Wilt listen to my tale?"
"Stan' out the gate, laird," Peggy cried,
"Or you will coup the pail:
"Mind, Hawkie here's a timorous beast,
An' no acquent wi you."
"Ne'er fash," quo' he, "the milking time's
The sweetest time to woo.
"Ye ken, I've aften tauld ye that
I've thretty kye and mair,
"An' ye'd be better owning them
Than sittin' milkin' there.
"My house is bein, and stocket weel
In hadden and in ha',
"An' ye've but just to sae the word
Tae leddy be o' a'."
"Wheesht, laird," quo Peggy, "dinna mak'
Yersel a fule an' me,
"I thank ye, for yer offer kind,
But sae it canna be.
"Maybe yer weel stocked house and farm,
An' thretty lowing kine,
"May win some ither lassie's heart,
They hae nae charms for mine;
"For in the kirk I hae been cried,
My troth is pledged and sworn,
"An' tae the man I like mysel',
I'll married be the morn'."
The laird, dumfoundered at her words,
Had nae mair will to try'r;
But turned, and gaed far faster out,
Than he'd come in the byre.