Mother

Ye were ay a rowdy laddie, Jock,
Since ever ye cam hame,
Unco ill to bed at night,
And dour to wash and kaim.
It gave me many a he’rt-break,
To keep ye cosh and clean,
Now I’m he’rt-hale sorry for’t –
          Ye ken what I mean!

Your brither’s deid in New Chapelle,
Your faither’s in Kirkbride,
Ye’re a’ that’s left that made for me
The joy o’ Wanlochside.
I winna hae ye craven, mind,
Nor yet ower foolish keen,
Let caution gang wi’ courage, lad –
         Ye ken what I mean!

If ever ye come on a German chiel
That looks o’ landward breed,
Some harum-scarum ne’er-dae-weel,
Blae een and lint-white heid,
That maybe played on the hairst-field
Like you when he was a wean,
Let that yin by for his mither’s sake –
          Ye ken what I mean!

Nane yet got me repinin’,
Nor bendin’ to my load;
High heid in the market-toun,
Licht foot on the road!
There’s nane to see Jean Cameron boo
But by her bed at e’en,
And I trust you’re no forgettin’ –
          Ye ken what I mean!

I’m vexed noo when I think of it,
The way I let ye gang –
Just the wee clap on the shouther,
And nae fareweel harangue;
I couldna look ye in the face,
For the sun was in my een,
I’m a stupid auld Scots body –
          Ye ken what I mean!

If Death were but a merchant man,
To strike a bargain wi’,
The first at his booth in the Candleriggs
In the morn’s morn would be me,
To swap him a fine auld withered brench
For a stubborn twig o’ green –
But there! I’m only haverin’ –
          Ye ken what I mean!