I see the Gowk an the Gowk sees me
Beside a berry-bush by the aiple-tree.
Auld Scots Rhyme.
'TIB, my auntie's a deil to wark,
Haes me risin 'afore the sun;
Aince her heid is abuin her sark
Then the clash o her tongue's begun!
Warslin, steerin wi hens an swine,
Naucht kens she o a freend o mine-
But the Gowk that bides i' the wids o Dun
He kens him fine!
Past the yaird an ahint the stye,
O the aiples growe bonnilie!
Tib, my auntie, she canna spy
Wha comes creepin to kep wi me.
Aye! she'd sort him, for, dod, she's fell!
Whisht nou, Jimmie, an hide yersel
An the wice-like bird i' the aiple-tree
He winna tell!
Aprile-month, or the aiples flouer,
Tib, my auntie, will rage an ca';
Jimmie lad, she mey rin an glower-
What care I? We'll be far awa!
Let her seek me the lee-lang day,
Wha's to tell her the road we'll gae?
For the cannie Gowk, tho he kens it a',
He winna say!