Wednesday, 28 June 2017

The Lonesome Scot

After reading through a volume of Scottish songs, (with the aid of a dictionary), the Scots words started forming rhymes  in my brain.

Ne'er thay laired me hou tae winch,
An ne'er thay laired me hou tae coort.
Nae I gainder in the rouk
Unkennins as tae hou tae do it.

Thay laired me hou tae spell an coont,
An all the kintras in the warld.
But it ails me that I leared na hou
Tae woo a lass wi golden curls.

I see the wey they keek at me,
The lasses blythe and cannie:
Whate'er it is a man sud hae,
Thay deem I haena ony.

And it's becase the lame-legged wey
I habble to come in aboot them,
And hou I ganch and stammer then
Tae try tae get wirds spoken.

What guid to me are all the beuks,
An all the problems solven,
While I gang forth all on my ain,
A lanely furr a'pleuchin'?

"English" version:

Never they taught me how to flirt,
And never they taught me how to court.
Now I wander in the mist,
Ignorant of how  to do it.

They taught me how to spell and count,
And all the countries in the world.
But I regret I learned not how
To woo a girl with golden curls.

I see the way they peep at me,
The cunning girls, so jolly:
Whatever it is a man should have,
They guess I have not any.

And it's because the lame-legged way
I hobble to approach them,
And how I stutter and stammer then
To try to get words spoken.

What good to me are all the books,
And all my problem-solving,
While I go forth all on my own,
A lonely furrow ploughing.

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