My soul stores up this wealth unspent,
The key is safe and nane’s but mine.
You’re richt, auld drunk impenitent,
I ken it tae—the truth’s in wine!
The munelicht’s like a lookin’-glass,
The thistle’s like mysel’,
But whaur ye’ve gane, my bonnie lass.
Is mair than I can tell.
Were you a vision o’ mysel’,
Transmuted by the mellow liquor?