an' a' the lang night as happy's a king.
bitter in idol i lickit my winnins
o' marrying bess, to gie her a slave:
blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens,
and blythe be the bird that sings on her grave!
 e to my arms, my katie, my katie;
oe to my arms and kiss me again!
drucken or sober, here's to thee, katie!
an' blest be the day i did it again.