II.

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.

* * * * *

GANE IS THE DAY.

Tune--"_Gudewife count the lawin._"

[The air as well as words of this song were furnished to the Museum by Burns. "The chorus," he says, "is part of an old song."]