O MEIKLE thinks my luve o my beauty,
And meikle thinks my luve o my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
My tochers the jewel has charms for him.
Its a for the apple hell nourish the tree,
Its a for the hinny hell cherish the bee,
My laddies sae meikle in luve wi the siller,
He canna hae luve to spare for me.
Your proffer o luves an airle-penny,
My tochers the bargain ye wad buy;
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin,
Sae ye wi anither your fortune may try.
Yere like to the timmer o yon rotten wood,
Yere like to the bark o yon rotten tree,
Yell slip frae me like a knotless thread,
And yell crack your credit wi mae nor me.