my jockie toils upon the plain,

thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw:

and o'er the lea i leuk fu' fain,

when jockie's owsen hameward ca'.

an' aye the nightes round again,

when in his arms he taks me a';

an' aye he vows he'll be my ain,

as lang's he has a breath to draw.