An’ woman’s faithless vows you blame,
With so much pathos you exclaim,
In your Lament,
But glanc’d by the most frigid dame,
She wad relent.
The daisy too, you sing wi’ skill;
An’ weel ye praise the whisky gill.
In vain I blunt my feckless quill,
Your fame to raise,
While echo sounds, frae ilka hill,