The poem
Chorus.—I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young to marry yet; I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin To tak me frae my mammy yet.
I AM my mammny’s ae bairn, Wi’ unco folk I weary, sir; And lying in a man’s bed, I’m fley’d it mak me eerie, sir. I’m o’er young, &c.
My mammie coft me a new gown, The kirk maun hae the gracing o’t; Were I to lie wi’ you, kind Sir, I’m feared ye’d spoil the lacing o’t. I’m o’er young, &c.
Hallowmass is come and gane, The nights are lang in winter, sir, And you an’ I in ae bed, In trowth, I dare na venture, sir. I’m o’er young, &c.
Fu’ loud an’ shill the frosty wind Blaws thro’ the leafless timmer, sir; But if ye come this gate again; I’ll aulder be gin simmer, sir. I’m o’er young, &c.