your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny,
my tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
but an ye be crafty, i am cunnin',
sae ye wi anither your fortune may try.
ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree,
ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
and ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.