Young Jockie was the blythest lad,
In a’our town or here awa;
Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu’ lightlydanc’d he in the ha’.

He roos’d my eensae bonieblue,
He roos’d my waist saegentysma’;
An’ aye my heart camto my mou’,
When ne’er a bodyheard orsaw.

My Jockie toils upon the plain,
Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw:
And o’er the leaI leukfu’fain,
When Jockie’s owsenhameward ca’.

An’ aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a’;
An’aye he vows he’ll be my ain,
As lang’s he has a breath to draw.