She'll be rotten or[153] I'll be ripe:
She's made for some ither, and no' me,
Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.
Then I'll gie ye Nell o' sweet Sprinkell,
Owre Galloway she bears the bell.
I'll set her up in my bed-head,
And feed her wi' new milk and bread;
She's for nae ither, but just for me,
Sae I thank ye for your courtesy.
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