Now you that wer the daughter there,
Be mother on a husband's vloor,
An' mid ye meet wi' less o' ceäre
Than what your hearty mother bore;
An' if abroad I have to rue
The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed,
Mid I come hwome to sheäre wi' you
What's needvul free o' pinchèn need:
An' vind that you ha' still in store,
My evenèn meal, an' woone smile mwore.