As ye're growing on yon hill;
If the auld carline and her bags were here,
I wot she would get meat her fill.
"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,
With even four-and-twenty knots;
And in the morn at breakfast time,
I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks.
"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,
With even four-and-twenty strings;
And if you look to my white fingers,