my jockie toils upon the plain,
thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw:
and o'er the lea i leuk fu' fain,
when jockie's owsen hameward ca'.
an' aye the nightes round again,
when in his arms he taks me a';
an' aye he vows he'll be my ain,
as lang's he has a breath to draw.