She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo'esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o' mine.
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She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo'esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o' mine.
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace;
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish;
Beyond comparison the worst are those
That to our Folly, or our Guilt we owe.
The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw [blow];
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw [snow]:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae [from] bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.