Narrow, narrow, at the coot,
And broad, broad at the brawn.
"Your gloves sail be the marigold,
All glittering to your hand,
Weel spread ower wi' the blue blaewort,
That grows in corn-land."
"O fare ye well, young man,'' she says,
"Farewell and I bid adieu;
Sin ye've provided a weed for me
Amang the simmer flowers,