“When things lookit weel, a scheme I had laid,
I promised to marry a bloomin’ young maid,
To share o’ the o’ercome when a’thing was paid,
But the frost it has backit it sairly.
“But my crap as it is, it is noo in the yaird,
An’ still for the lassie I hae a regaird;
I think that I’ll marry her, an’ no pay the laird,—
Let him ken there was frost in the mornin’.
“An’ if he should break out in ragin’ and strife,
He may weel tak’ the gear, but he’ll no tak’ my life;