I anoe was a wanter, as happy 's a bee: —
I meddled wi' nane, and nane meddled wi' me.
I whiles had a crack o'er a cog o' gude yill —
Whiles a bicker o' swats — whiles a heart-heezing gill;
And I aye had a groat if I hadna a pound, —
On the earth there were nane meikle happier found:
But my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.

Fu' sound may she sleep! — a douce woman was she,
Wi' her wheel, an' her pipe, an' her cuppie o' tea.
My ingle she keepit as neat as a preen,
And she never speer'd questions, as, " Where ha'e ye been? "
Or, " What were ye doin'? " an' " Wha were ye wi'? " —
We were happy thegither, my mither an' me:
But the puir body died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinssyne.

When my mither was gane, for a while I was wae;
But a young chap was I, an' a wife I maun ha'e.
A wife soon I gat, an' I aye ha'e her yet,
An' folk think thegither we unco weel fit:
But my ain mind ha'e I, though I mauna speak o't,
For mair than her gallop I like my ain trot.
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.

If I wi' a cronie be takin' a drap,
She'll yaumer, an' ca, me an auld drucken chap.
If an hour I bide out, loud she greets an' she yowls,
An' bans 'a gude fellows, baith bodies an' souls:
And then sic a care she has o' her gudeman!
Ye would think I were doited — I canna but ban!
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.

Our young gilpie dochters are lookin' for men,
An' I'll be a grandsire or ever I ken:
Our laddies are thinkin' o' rulin' the roast —
Their father auld bodie, 's deaf as a post!
But he sees their upsettin', sae crouse an' sae bauld: —
O! why did I marry, an' wherefore grow auld?
My mither! ye died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I na'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne!