Ther’s some ‘at lang for parks an’ halls,
   An’ letters to ther name;
But happiness despises walls,
   It’s nooan a child o’ fame. 
A robe may lap a woeful chap,
   Whose heart wi grief may bleed,
Wol rags may rest on joyful breast,
   Soa hang it! niver heed!

Th’ sun shines as breet for me as them,
   An’ th’ meadows smell as sweet,
Th’ larks sing as sweetly o’er mi heead,
   An’ th’ flaars smile at mi feet,
An’ when a hard day’s wark is done,
   Aw ait mi humble feed,
Mi appetite’s a relish fun,
   Soa hang it, niver heed.

Sing On.

Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on;
      Aw cannot sing;
A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con
      Fresh troubles spring. 
Aw wish aw could, like thee, fly far away,
Aw’d leave mi cares an be a burd to-day. 
Mi heart war once as full o’ joy as thine,
      But nah it’s sad;
Aw thowt all th’ happiness i’th’ world wor mine,
      Sich faith aw had;—­
But he who promised aw should be his wife
Has robb’d me o’ mi ivery joy i’ life. 
Sing on:  tha cannot cheer me wi’ thi song;
      Yet, when aw hear
Thi warblin’ voice, ‘at rings soa sweet an’ strong,
      Aw feel a tear
Roll daan mi cheek, ’at gives mi heart relief,
A gleam o’ comfort, but it’s varry brief. 
This little darlin’, cuddled to mi breast,
      It little knows,
When snoozlin’ soa quietly at rest,
      ’At all mi woes
Are smothered thear, an’ mi poor heart ud braik
But just aw live for mi wee laddie’s sake. 
Sing on; an’ if tha e’er should chonce to see
      That faithless swain,
Whose falsehood has caused all mi misery,
      Strike up thy strain,
An’ if his heart yet answers to thy trill
Fly back to me, an’ aw will love him still. 
But if he heeds thee not, then shall aw feel
      All hope is o’er,
An’ he that aw believed an’ loved soa weel
      Be loved noa more;
For that hard heart, bird music cannot move,
Is far too cold a dwellin’-place for love.

What aw Want.

Gie me a little humble cot,
   A bit o’ garden graand,
Set in some quiet an’ sheltered spot,
   Wi’ hills an’ trees all raand;

An’ if besides mi hooam ther flows
   A little mumuring rill,
At sings sweet music as it gooas,
   Awst like it better still.

Gie me a wife ’at loves me weel,
   An’ childer two or three,
Wi’ health to sweeten ivery meal,
   An’ hearts brimful o’ glee.

Gie me a chonce, wi’ honest toil
   Mi efforts to engage,
Gie me a maister who can smile
   When forkin aght mi wage.

Gie me a friend ’at aw can trust,
   ’An tell mi secrets to;
One tender-hearted, firm an’ just,
   Who sticks to what is true.

Gie me a pipe to smook at neet,
   A pint o’ hooam-brew’d ale,
A faithful dog ’at runs to meet
   Me wi a waggin tail.