The Aunty Poem by Robert Anderson

We've roughness amang hands, we've kye i' the byre,
Come live wi' us, lassie, it's aw I desire;
I'll lig i' the loft, and gi'e my bed to thee,
Nor sal ought else be wantin that guidness can gi'e:
Sin the las o' thy kin, thy peer aunty, we've lost,
Thou frets aw the day, and e'en luiks like a ghost.

I mind when she sat i' the nuik at her wheel,
How she'd tweyne the slow thread, and aye counsel us weel,
Then oft whisper me, `Thou wad mek a top wife;'
`And pray God to see thee weel sattl'd in life;'
Then what brave funny teales she cud tell the neet through,
And bless the peer fwok, if the stormy win blew.

That time when we saunter'd owre leate at the town,
'Twas the day, I weel mind, when tou gat thy chintz gown,
For the watters were up, and pick dark was the neet,
And she lissen'd and cry'd, and thought aw wasn't reet;
But, Oh! when you met, what a luik did she give!--
I can niver forget her as lang as I live.

How I like thee, dear lassie' thou's oft heard me tell;
Nay, I like thee far better than I like mysel;
And when sorrow forsakes thee, to kurk we'll een gang,
But tou munnet sit pinin thy leane aw day lang;
Come owre the geate, lassie, my titty sal be
A companion to her that's aye dearest to me.