Three lads in this village are we—
I, Alexander and Patrick,
and the folk of the district twit us
for having quite lost our pluck:
the kind girls who kept us company
have been beguiled by others;
every night they keep vigil,
they lack not for a man in attendance.

A spry, young fellow is Donald—
he had the best mettle of all;
'tis he would whisk around smartly
and go in a twinkling to tryst them:
he would need a tether and stake
that he never could manage to break,
and so be restrained with the he-goats,
as he is on the rampage without rest.

Peter MacBean has a callant,
the most ardent of any I know;
he is so devoted to women
that he cannot lie down alone:
he would travel the whole night till daylight,
to a place where he could get kisses,
and he would wanton with fervour
in the company of young lassies.

Flattering, glib and gallant,
polite and tender in dalliance,
is the rascal slinking in corners
and rummaging under his paws;
with guarded, deliberate fondling,
he boldly draws nigh unto her;
and if he knelt down in the meantime,
'twas not at prayers he was.

He reaches a hut in his vigil,
'tis the place where he would fain stay;
he will lie hard by the milk-maid—
she is the sweetheart he loves;
she would fondle him kindly
and over him throw her arm,
and when he closes with her with bustle,
they would keep the others awake.

A clumsy, impudent lubber
is the bald, dun, graceless runt,
who came a-courting so pertly
to a place where better lads were;
he deserved to be sent to the session,
for his capers, since they are exposed,
to have branks clamped over his jaws,
and be given the dun gown of the kirk.