The Widow

The widow can bake and the widow can brew,
The widow can shape and the widow can sew,
And mony braw things the widow can do, —
Then have at the widow, my laddie.

With courage attack her baith early and late;
To kiss and clap her ye maunna be blate, —
Speak well, and do better; for that's the best gate
To win a young widow, my laddie.

The widow she's youthfu', and never a hair
The waur of the wearing, and has a good skair
Of every thing lovely; she's witty and fair
And has a rich jointure, my laddie.

What could ye wish better, your pleasure to crown,
Than a widow the bonniest toast in the town,
With naething but draw in your stool and sit down,
And sport with the widow, my laddie.

Then till her, and kill her with courtesy dead,
Tho' stark love and kindness be all ye can plead;
Be heartsome and airy, and hope to succeed
With a bonny gay widow, my laddie.

Strike iron while 'tis het, if ye'd have it to wald,—
For fortune ay favours the active and bauld,
But ruins the wooer that's thowless and cauld,
Unfit for the widow, my laddie.