There's twa fat hens upon the bauk, Been fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And mak' the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw; It's a' for love of my gudeman, For he's been long awa'.

My sun is set, my eyne are wet, cauld poortith now is mine; Nae mair I'll range by Coquet-side and thraw the gleesome line;