And gin I live to keep him sae,
I’m blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak? 50
I’m downright dizzy wi’ the thought,
In troth I’m like to greet.
For there’s nae luck about the house,
There’s nae luck at a’;
There’s little pleasure in the house, 55
When our gudeman’s awa’.