For I'll ay be canty when Willie comes hame,
To like sic a laddie why should I think shame!
Though the laird flytes my mither, and cries, "Do ye see,
That lassie cares nought for my siller or me!"
The laird he has money, the laird he has land,
But my Willie has nought but the sword in his hand;
Yet I'd live upon Chelsea, or even wad beg,
Should my soldier return wi' a poor wooden leg!