“Fee him, faither, fee him,” quo’ she;
      “Fee him, faither, fee him;
    A’ the wark about the house
      Gaes wi’ me when I see him: 
    A’ the wark about the house
      I gang sae lightly through it;
    And though ye pay some merks o’ gear,
      Hoot! ye winna rue it,” quo’ she;
        “No; ye winna rue it.”

    “What wad I do wi’ him, hizzy? 
      What wad I do wi’ him? 
    He ’s ne’er a sark upon his back,
      And I hae nane to gi’e him.” 
    “I hae twa sarks into my kist,
      And ane o’ them I ’ll gi’e him;
    And for a merk o’ mair fee,
      Oh, dinna stand wi’ him,” quo’ she;
        “Dinna stand wi’ him.

    “Weel do I lo’e him,” quo’ she;
      “Weel do I lo’e him;
    The brawest lads about the place
      Are a’ but hav’rels to him. 
    Oh, fee him, father; lang, I trow,
      We ’ve dull and dowie been: 
    He ‘ll haud the plough, thrash i’ the barn,
      And crack wi’ me at e’en,” quo’ she;
        “Crack wi’ me at e’en.”

IT FELL ON A MORNING.[33]

    It fell on a morning when we were thrang—­
      Our kirn was gaun, our cheese was making,
      And bannocks on the girdle baking—­
    That ane at the door chapp’d loud and lang;
      But the auld gudewife, and her Mays sae tight,
    Of this stirring and din took sma’ notice, I ween;
      For a chap at the door in braid daylight
    Is no like a chap when heard at e’en.

    Then the clocksie auld laird of the warlock glen,
      Wha stood without, half cow’d, half cheerie. 
      And yearn’d for a sight of his winsome dearie,
    Raised up the latch and came crousely ben. 
      His coat was new, and his owrelay was white,
    And his hose and his mittens were coozy and bein;
      But a wooer that comes in braid daylight
    Is no like a wooer that comes at e’en.

    He greeted the carlin’ and lasses sae braw,
      And his bare lyart pow he smoothly straikit,
      And looked about, like a body half glaikit,
    On bonny sweet Nanny, the youngest of a’: 
      “Ha, ha!” quo’ the carlin’, “and look ye that way? 
    Hoot! let nae sic fancies bewilder ye clean—­
      An elderlin’ man, i’ the noon o’ the day,
    Should be wiser than youngsters that come at e’en.”

    “Na, na,” quo’ the pawky auld wife; “I trow
      You ‘ll fash na your head wi’ a youthfu’ gilly,
      As wild and as skeigh as a muirland filly;
    Black Madge is far better and fitter for you.” 
      He hem’d and he haw’d, and he screw’d in his mouth,
    And he squeezed his blue bonnet his twa hands between;
      For wooers that come when the sun ’s in the south
    Are mair awkward than wooers that come at e’en.