by Robert Burns
My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity,
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow,
In poortith I might mak a fen'!
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller,
"Guid day to you, brute!" he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten:
But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written---Tam Glen.
The last Halloween I lay waukin
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam' up the house staukin',
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry---
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.