Threescwore And Nineteen Poem by Robert Anderson

Aye, Aye, I's feeble grown,
And feckless--weel I may!
I's threescwore and nineteen,
Aye, just this varra day!
I ha'e nae teeth, my meat to chew,
But little sarras me!
The best thing I eat or drink,
Is just a cup o' tea!

Aye, aye, the bairns mak gam,
And pleague me suin and late;
Men fwok I leyke i' my heart,
But bairns and lasses hate!
This gown o' meyne's lang i' the weast,
Aul--fashion'd i' the sleeve;
It meks me luik leyke fourscwore,
I varily believe!

Aye, aye, what I's deef,
My hearin's quite geane;
I's fash'd wi' that sad cough aw neet,
But little I complain.
I smuik a bit, and cough a bit,
And then I try to spin;
And then I daddle to the duir,
And then I daddle in!

Aye, aye, I wonder much,
How women can get men;
I've tried for threescwore years and mair,
But never cud get yen.
De'il tek the cat--what is she at?
Lie quiet on the chair:
I thowt it e'en was Daniel Strang,
Comin up the stair!

Aye, Aye, I've bed and box,
And kist, and clock, and wheel,
And tub, and rock, and stuil, and pan,
And chair, and dish, and reel;
And luiking--glass, and chammer--pot,
And bottles for smaw beer;
Mouse--trap, sawt--box, kettle, and--
That's Danny sure I hear!

Aye, aye, he's young eneugh,
But, oh! a reet neyce man;
And I wad ne'er be caul in bed,
Cud I but marry Dan.
Deuce tek that cough! that weary cough--
It never let's me be;
I's kilt wi' that and gravel beath--
Oh, Daniel, come to me!