Elizabeth’ Burth--Day Poem by Robert Anderson

JENNY.
Ay, Wulliam! neist Monday's Elizabeth' burth day!
She is a neyce lass, tho' she were nin o' mine.
We mun ax the Miss Dowsons, and auld Brodie' young fwok:
I wish I'd seav'd a swope geuseberry wine.
She'll be sebenteen; what, she's got thro' her larnin;
She dances as I did, when furst I kent thee.
As for Tom, her cruik'd billy, he stumps leyke a cwoach--horse;
We'll ne'er mek a man on him, aw we can dee.''

WULLIAM.
``Hut, Jenny! hod tongue o' thee! praise nae sec varment,
She won't men' a sark, but reads novels, proud brat!
She dance! What she turns in her taes, thou peer gonny,
Caw her Bet, 'twas the neame her auld granny ay gat.
No, Tommy for my money! he reads his beyble,
And hes sec a lovinly squint wid his e'en;
He sheps as leyke me, as ae been's leyke anudder;
She snurls up her neb, just a shem to be seen!''

JENNY.
``Shaf, Wully! that's fashion--tou kens no[illeg.] about it;
She's streyt as a resh, and as reed as a rwose,
She's sharp as a needle, and luiks leyke a leady
Thou talks, man--a lass cannot meake her aw nwose!
She's dilicate meade, and nit fit for the country
For Tom, he's knock--knee'd, wi' twea girt as buird feet;
God help them he sheps leyke! they've little [illeg.] brag on;
Tho' ours, I've oft thought, he was nit van[illeg.] reet.''

WULLIAM.
``O, Jen! thou's run mad wi' thy gossips and trumpery:--
Our lal bit o' lan we maun sell, I declare;
I yence thought thee an angel,--thou's turn just a deevil,
Has fash'd me reet lang, and oft vexes me sai[illeg.]
This fashion and feasting brings monie to ruin,
A duir o' my house they shall nit come within
As for Bet, if she dunnet gang off till a sarvice
When I's dead and geane she shall nit hev a pin.

JENNY.
``Stop, Wull! whee was't brong thee that fortune peer gomas!
Just thurteen gud yacres as lig to the sun;
When I tuik up wi' thee, I'd lost peer Gwordy Glossip,
I've rue'd sin that hour to the kurk when we run:
Were thou cauld and coffin'd, I'd suin get a better;
Sae creep off to bed, nit a word let us hear!
They shall come, if God spare us, far mair than I mention'd--
Elizabeth' burth--day but comes yence a--year!