I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, fine
In poortith I might mak a fen'; poverty, shift
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I maunna marry Tam Glen? must not
There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
‘Guid-day to you’—brute! he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o' his siller, money
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me, mother, deafen
And bids me beware o' young men;