O Sarley may I rue the day
I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sin syne I ne’er can ha’e
Ae quiet thought or peace o’ mind!
                       They ha’e plagued my heart, an’ pleased my e’e
An’ teased an’ flatter’d me at will,
But aye, for a’ their witchery,
The pawky things I lo’e them still.

                       O, the women folk! O, the women folk
But they ha’e been the wreck o’me;
O, weary fa’ the women folk,
for they winna let a body be!

                                    I ha’e thought an’ thought, but darena tell,
I’ve studied them wi’ a my skill,
I’ve lo’ed them better than mysel,
I’ve tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,
To comprehend what nae man can;
When he has done what man can do,
He’ll end at last where he began.

That they ha’e gentle forms an’ meet,
A man wi’ half a look may see;
An gracefu’ airs, an’ faces sweet,
An’ waving curls aboon the bree;
An’ smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,
An’ e’en sae pawky, bright, an’ rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the clud-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!

Even but this night, nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,
I tak ye witness, ilka ane,
How fell they fought, and fairly dang,
Their point they’ve carried, right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,
An’ forced a man to sing a sang,
That ne’er could sing a verse ava’.