WHEN I was a wee little totterin bairn,

An' had nobbut just gitten short frocks;

When to gang I at first was beginnin to lairn,

On my brow I gat monie hard knocks:

For se waik, an' se silly, an' helpless was I,

I was always a tumblin down then,

While me mother wald twattle me gently, an' cry,

"Honey, Jenny, tak' care o' thysen."

But when I grew bigger, an' gat to be strang,

'At I cannily ran all about

By mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang,

Without bein' tell'd about ought.

When however I com to be sixteen year auld,

An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men.

My mother wud call o' me in, an' wald scauld,

An' cry—"Huzzy! tak' care o' thysen."

I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday neeghts,

An' he swears 'at he'll mak' me his wife,

My mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes,

An' twitters me out o' my life.

But she may leuk sour, an' cansait hersen wise,

An' preach again likin young men;

Sen I'se grown a woman, her clack I'll despise,

An' I'se—marry!—tak' care o' mysen.