I’ll plank a croon on ony table
Against a groat,
To fin’ my name you’ll no’ be able
In a’ the plot.
Your mither, Eve, I kent her brawly;
A dainty queen she was, and wally,
But destitute o’ prudence wholly,
The witless hizzie,
Aye bent on fun, and whiles on folly,
And mischief busy.