with critical observations and biographical notices, by Robert Burns

160
Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny,
My Tocher's the bargain ye wad buy
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnm,
Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Ye're hke to the bark o* yon rotten tree
Ye'U slip frae me like a knotless thread,
And ye'U crack your credit wi' mae nor me.*
* The four last lines of this song are old. I have seen them in
an unpublished MS. Collection by . David Herd, the Editor of
** Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads," &c. 2 vols.
1776.—the two lines,
'* It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree,
Ifs a' for the hinney he'll cherish the bee /'
are also much older than Burns's words.
—
Ed,
;
;