The Prize

O the lad I love is bonny.

He is tall and lithe and sunny.

The lassies want to love him
Far and wide.

O my laddie is so comely
That he never will be lonely,
And he takes the ladies’ worship
In his stride.

But my lad is proud and Scotttish
And just a bit stand-offish,
And what he’s really wanting
Is a bride.

Though his wicked eyes are gleaming,
He still thinks it isn’t seeming
To rough and tumble with
A future bride,

So although it would be pleasure
To go romping in the heather,
For the moment I must cast
Such thoughts aside.

I must act a little coldly
When my lad starts winking boldly,
For I aim to make my future
By his side.