O when the porter came up the stair,
He's fa'n low down upon his knee—
"Win up, win up, ye proud porter,
And what makes a' this courtesy?"
"O I've been porter at your gates,
This mair nor seven years and three;
But there is a lady at them now,
The like of whom I never did see;
"For on every finger she has a ring,
And on the mid finger she has three;