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Poem	HERE’S to thy health, my bonie lass, Gude nicht and joy be wi’ thee; I’ll come nae mair to thy bower-door, To tell thee that I lo’e thee. O dinna think, my pretty pink, But I can live without thee: I vow and swear I dinna care, How lang ye look about ye. Thou’rt aye sae free informing me, Thou hast nae mind to marry; I’ll be as free informing thee, Nae time hae I to tarry: I ken thy frien’s try ilka means Frae wedlock to delay thee; Depending on some higher chance, But fortune may betray thee. I ken they scorn my low estate, But that does never grieve me; For I’m as free as any he; Sma’ siller will relieve me. I’ll count my health my greatest wealth, Sae lang as I’ll enjoy it; I’ll fear nae scant, I’ll bode nae want, As lang’s I get employment. But far off fowls hae feathers fair, And, aye until ye try them, Tho’ they seem fair, still have a care; They may prove waur than I am. But at twal’ at night, when the moon shines bright, My dear, I’ll come and see thee; For the man that loves his mistress weel, Nae travel makes him weary.
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