'Master,' quoth the auld hound, 'Where will ye go?' 'Over moss, over muir, To court my new jo.' 'Master, though the night be merk, I'se follow through the snow. ' 'Court her, master, court her, So shall ye do weel; But and ben she'll guide the house, I'se get milk and meal. Ye'se get lilting while she sits With her rock and reel.' 'For, oh! she has a sweet tongue, And een that look down, A gold girdle for her waist, And a purple gown. She has a good word forbye Fra a' folk in the town.' |