Auld John Thamson rade hame frae the fair,
Late, late on a cauld winter night, O!
He had toomed his three coggies, an' maybe ane mair,
Nae ferlie his head it was light, O!
But his horse kenn'd the gate, sae John lay in his cart,
Sleeping as sound as a tap, O!
And the horse draigled on through the sleet an' the clart,
While Johnnie lay taking his nap, O!

At length at the foot o' a stieve an' stey brae,
Auld Bawsie drew breath an' stood still, O!
An' dozin' fell dreaming o' sweet scented hay,
While Jock dreamt o' rich reamin' yill, O!
John Thamson's gudewife cam her liege lord to seek,
Wi' a bowit that shone like a star, O!
For though she had lectured him week after week,
He grew aye the langer the waur, O!

My certy! quo' she, but I'll play him a fleg,
As sure as Jean Thamson's my name, O!
Sae frae the cart trams syne she lowsed the auld naig,
An' slippit it straught awa' hame, O!
The wind it blew bleak, and John Thamson awoke,
An' he hyted, he huppit—in vain, O!
He ferlied what gaured his horse stand like a stock,
Till he graipit an' felt it was gane, O!

Syne back to the toll in a hurry he ran,
An' the tollman he wauked in a fricht, O!
“Can I be John Thamson? come tell me, gudeman,
Has John Thamson passed by the nicht, O?”
“Gude help us man, Jock, is't yoursel' or your ghost?”
The tollman he cried wi' a start, O!
“Gin I be John Thamson a horse I hae lost,
But gin no, I hae fund—a cart, O!”

John Thamson grew sober, John Thamson ran hame,
Skelp, skelping through dub an' through mire, O!
He was met at the door by his couthy auld dame,
Wha luggit him straught to the byre, O!
There his horse stood fu' snug, “Ay, puir Bawsie,” quo' she
“He eats, he drinks only his fill, O!”
“Ah!” quo' Jock, “but he hadna a crony like me,
Sayin', ‘Here's t' ye,’ oure a drap yill, O!”