George Halket (d. 1756)

O LOGIE o’ Buchan, O Logie the laird,

They ha’e ta’en awa’ Jamie, that delved in the yaird,

Wha played on the pipe and the viol sae sma’,

They ha’e ta’en awa’ Jamie, the flower o’ them a’!

He said, ‘Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa’!’

He said, ‘Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa’!

For simmer is coming, cauld winter’s awa’,

And I’ll come and see thee in spite o’ them a’!’

Though Sandy has ousen, has gear, and has kye,

A house and a hadden, and siller forbye;

Yet I’d tak’ mine ain lad, wi’ his staff in his hand,

Before I’d ha’e him, wi’ the houses and land.

My daddy looks sulky, my minnie looks sour;

They frown upon Jamie because he is poor:

Though I lo’e them as weel as a dochter should do,

They’re nae hauf sae dear to me, Jamie, as you.

I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel,

And think on the laddie that lo’ed me sae weel:

He had but a sixpence, he brak’ it in twa,

And gi’ed me the hauf o’t when he gaed awa’.

Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa’!

The simmer is coming, cauld winter’s awa’,

And ye’ll come and see me in spite o’ them a’.