Are smothered thear, an' mi poor heart ud braik
But just aw live for mi wee laddie's sake.
Sing on; an' if tha e'er should chonce to see
That faithless swain,
Whose falsehood has caused all mi misery,
Strike up thy strain,
An' if his heart yet answers to thy trill
Fly back to me, an' aw will love him still.
But if he heeds thee not, then shall aw feel
All hope is o'er,