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He took her pouch and pursukie,
an' fast awa' he ran;
The wife waken'd in a fright,
her head was ⟨light's⟩ a flee,
An' O ! quo' the wee wifukie,
sure this is no me
When I was bonny Bessukie,
my locks they were like gowd,
I look'd like ony lassokie
whene'er that they were cow'd
An’ Johny was aye tellin’ me,
I was right fair to see ;
But somebody has been fedlin me,
for this is no me.
I met wi’ kindly companie,
I birl’d my bawbee ;
If I be bonny Bessukie,
Three places remain wi’ me,
She put her han' down by her side,
to fin' gin it was she,
But neither pouch nor plack she had,
so this is no me.
I hae a wee bit housokie,
an' in't a kindly man?
