’At owte ’at’s wick comes santerin’ theer but you, yer oan two sel’s.
Ther’ cannot be anudder spot so private an’ so sweet,
As Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght!
T’ Hempgarth Broo’s a cheersome pleàce when t’ whins bloom full o’ flooar—
Green Hecklebank turns greener when it’s watter’t wid a shooar—
There’s bonnie neuks about Beckside, Stocks-hill, an’ Greystone Green—
High Woker Broo gi’es sec a view as isn’t offen seen—
It’s glorious doon ont’ Sandy-beds when t’ sun’s just gān to set—
An’ t’ Clay-Dubs isn’t far aslew when t’ wedder isn’t wet;
But nin was meàd o’ pūrpose theer a bonnie lass to meet