She's mutterd sich words till my strength it faild,
An I fell down senceless upon the groun.
She's turnd me into an ugly worm,
And gard me writhle about the tree;
An ay, on ilka Saturdays night,
Wi silver bason an silver kemb,
To kemb my heady upon her knee;
But or I had kissd her ugly mouth,
I'd rather a writhled about the tree.