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I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,
In poortith, I might mak' a fen';
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I dinna marry Tam Glen?

There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller,
'Gude day to you,' brute, he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o' his siller;
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me gude hundred marks ten:
But if it's ordain'd I maun tak' him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?

Yestreen at the Valentines dealing,
My heart to my mou' gied a sten:
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written Tam Glen.