A Poets Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter
Thou's
welcome,
wean;
mishanter
fa'
me,
If
thoughts
o'
thee,
or
yet
thy
mammie,
Shall
ever
daunton
me
or
awe
me,
My
sweet
wee
lady,
Or
if
I
blush
when
thou
shalt
ca'
me
Tyta
or
daddie.
Tho'
now
they
ca'
me
fornicator,
An'
tease
my
name
in
countra
clatter,
The
mair
they
talk,
I'm
kend
the
better,
E'en
let
them
clash;
An
auld
wife's
tongue's
a
feckless
matter
To
gie
ane
fash.
Welcome!
my
bonie,
sweet,
wee
dochter,
Tho'
ye
come
here
a
wee
unsought
for,
And
tho'
your
comin'
I
hae
fought
for,
Baith
kirk
and
queir;
Yet,
by
my
faith,
ye're
no
unwrought
for,
That
I
shall
swear!
Sweet
fruit
o'
monie
a
merry
dint,
My
funny
toil
is
no
a'
tint,
Tho'
thou
cam
to
the
warl'
asklent,
Which
fools
may
scoff
at;
In
my
last
plack
thy
part's
be
in't
The
better
ha'f
o't.
Tho'
I
should
be
the
waur
bestead,
Thou's
be
as
braw
and
bienly
clad,
And
thy
young
years
as
nicely
bred
Wi'
education,
As
onie
brat
o'
wedlock's
bed,
In
a'
thy
station.
Wee
image
o'
my
bonie
Betty,
As
fatherly
I
kiss
and
daut
thee,
As
dear
and
near
my
heart
I
set
thee
Wi'
as
gude
will
As
a'
the
priests
had
seen
me
get
thee
That's
out
o'
hell.
Lord
grant
that
thou
may
aye
inherit
Thy
mither's
person,
grace,
an'
merit,
An'
thy
poor,
worthless
daddy's
spirit,
Without
his
failins,
'Twill
please
me
mair
to
see
thee
heir
it,
Than
stockit
mailens.
For
if
thou
be
what
I
wad
hae
thee,
And
tak
the
counsel
I
shall
gie
thee,
I'll
never
rue
my
trouble
wi'
thee
-
The
cost
nor
shame
o't,
But
be
a
loving
father
to
thee,
And
brag
the
name
o't.
