So You Think You Will Be A Scotch Lassie; The Braw Hieland Lad In A Kilt Has Taken Your Fancy, Dear, Has He? And You, Too, Would Be Clad In A "Tilt." Well, Not One Will Gainsay You Nor Blame You, For Your Wishes Are Ever Fulfilt; And How Proudly Your Father Will Claim You, When Arrayed In A Tartan And "Tilt"! And Your Mother Will Certainly Further The Hopes That Her Ethel Has Built; You Have Only To Ask To Ensure Their Fulfilment Concerning The "Tilt." And I--(Oh! I Know I Don't Count, Dear, And For Speaking Acknowledge My Guilt, For My Wishes To Nothing Amount, Dear,) I Would Rather You Hadn't A "Tilt." For Although Thou Wilt Take Us By Storm, Dear, Looking Sweet, As Thou Certainly Wilt, Yet, You Know, It Is Very Bad Form, Dear, And Not English To Wish For A "Tilt." And I Thought, (But Of Course Was Mistaken, For My Hopes Lie Around Me All Spilt), That My Ethel Would Never Awaken To Sigh For A Hielander'S "Tilt." None The Less Will I Try To Be Glad Then, Nor Let Courtesy Play Me The Jilt; Though I Know That My Heart Will Be Sad When Little Ethel Is Wearing Her "Tilt".