7
But now its scantly worth a groat,
For I ha'e worn't this thretty year:
Let's spend the gear that we hae won,
We little ken the day we'll die:
Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn
To hae a new cloke about me.
In days when our King Robert rang,
His trows they coast but ha'f a crown,
He said thy were a groat o'er dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief and loan:
He was a king that wore a crown,
And thou'rt a man of laigh degree;
'Tis pride brings a' the kintra down,
Sae tak’ thy auld cloke about thee.
Every land has its ain laugh,
Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool;
I think the warld is a' run rang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule;
Do ye not see Rob, Jock, and Hab
How they are girded gallantly,
While I sit hurklin in the ase?
I'll hae a new cloke about me.
Gudeman, I wat 'tis thretty years,
Since we did ane anither ken;
And we hae had between us twa,
O lads and bonny lassies ten:
Now, they are women grown and men,
