O T IBBIE , I hae seen the day
Ye wadna been sae shy!
For laik o' gear ye lightly me;
But, trowth, I carena by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor:
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure.
Ye geck at me because I 'm poor;
But fient a hair care I.

I doubtna, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try;

But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean,
Although his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.

Although a lad were ne'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt
Ye 'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry;

But if he hae the name o' gear
Ye 'll fasten to him like a brier,
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie lass, tak my advice:
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wadna gie her in her sark
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark —
Ye needna look sae high!

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day
Ye wadna been sae shy!
For taik o' gear ye lightly me;
But, trowth, I carena by.