Tak a gawk at me, my brither,'
Pech'd a plum abüne a wa'.
I hae grown sae unco sonsie
Wi' my shiny face and a'
That folk will cry as they gae by:
O Man! but you're lookin braw.'
Mess John, makin up his sermon,
Glower'd but naething saw.
A lass wha was baith blithe and bonnie,
Sech'd: It süne will fa'.'
But a young nip wi' a lowp and skip
Taen the tasty bite awa.