What way poor bodies liv'd ava. at all

Our Laird gets in his racked rents,

His coals, his kain, and a' his stents; rent in kind, dues

He rises when he likes himsel';

His flunkies answer at the bell:

He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; calls

He draws a bonny silken purse

As lang's my tail, where, through the steeks, stitches

The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. guinea peeps

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling