O tell me the way for to woo/My Kimmer and I

MY KIMMER AND I.

Whan Kimmer and I were groom and bride,
We had twa pint stoups at our bedside;
Sax times fu’ and sax times dry,
And raise for drouth—my Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I gade to the fair,
Wi‘ twal pund Scots in sarking to ware,
But we drank the gude brown hawkie dry,
And sarkless hame came Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I gade to the town,
For wedding breeks and a wedding gown;
But the sleekit auld priest he wat our eye
In sackcloth gowns—my Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I maun tak the beuk,
Wi’ a twal pint stoup in our pint neuk;
Ere the psalm be done, the dish is dry,
And drouthelie pray my Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer and I are scant o’ claes,
Wi soups o' drink and soups o’ brose;
But late we rise and soon gae lie,
And cantilie live—my Kimmer and I.

My Kimmer is auld, my Kimmer is bent,
And I’m gaun louting owre a kent;
The well o' life is dribbling dry,
And drouthie, drouthie’s Kimmer and I.