GI’e me a lass with a lump of land,
And we for life shall gang thegither,
Tho’ daft or wise, I’ll never demand,
Or black or fair it maksna whether.
I’m aff with wit, and beauty will fade,
And blood alane is no worth a shilling,
But she that’s rich, her market’s made,
For ilka charm about her is killing.
Gi’e me a lass with a lump of land,
And in my bosom I’ll hug my treasure;
Gin I had anes her gear in my hand,
Should love turn dowf, it will find pleasure.
Laugh on wha likes, but there’s my hand,
I hate with poortith, tho’ bonny, to meddle,
Unless they bring cash, or a lump of land,
They’se never get me to dance to their fiddle.
There’s meikle good love in bands and bags.
And siller and gowd’s a sweet complexion;
But beauty and wit, and virtue in rags,
Have tint the art of gaining affection:
Love tips his arrows with woods and parks,
And castles and riggs, and muirs and meadows,
And naithing can catch our modern sparks,
But well tocher’d lasses or joynter’d widows.