II.—A Moorlander Looks Forward to a Bride
A WOMAN'S een where fiat's as scarce as here ?
Her nails in sic a place like stars 'ud glow !
Fegs, it's nae vilipendin she's to fear.
I'm used to makin' the maist o' sma' affairs.
Blither wi' a wheen heather cowes and spurts o' grass Than ither folk wi' earth's maist prodigal show
I mak' a world I'd swap for vane o' theirs
And twist by twist ken a' its wankishin'.
What will I no' then wi' a haill live lass ?
Treasure the canna and misprize her skin Y
Ken the wra moors and no' her benmaist thocht ?
Wreathe on my clew a' the threids that mak' This manufacture till it looks if you please At sun-up like a whey-drap in a cheese, And leave sic brew material unwrocht ?
—The bottle o' port that's a' the cheese can lack !
HUGII MACDIARmli).