The tinker sang aneth the meen,
O' Love gaen wrang, the auld lament,
O' aathing tint, an aathing taen,
As if its sorra he hid kent.

As birdies wheeple roon the gean,
An pree the cherries frae the tree,
Nor winna shift till as be daen,
Then list ye, sae it wis wi' me.