1 Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land,
2 And we for life shall gang thegither;
3 Tho' daft or wise I'll never demand,
4 Or black or fair it maks na whether.
5 I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade,
6 And blood alane is no worth a shilling;
7 But she that's rich her market's made,
8 For ilka charm about her is killing.
9 Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land,
10 And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure;
11 Gin I had anes her gear in my hand,
12 Should love turn dowf, it will find pleasure.
13 Laugh on wha likes, but there's my hand,
14 I hate with poortith, tho' bonny, to meddle;
15 Unless they bring cash or a lump of land,
16 They'se never get me to dance to their fiddle.
17 There's meikle good love in bands and bags,
18 And siller and gowd's a sweet complexion;
19 But beauty, and wit, and virtue in rags,
20 Have tint the art of gaining affection.
21 Love tips his arrows with woods and parks,
22 And castles, and riggs, and moors, and meadows;
23 And naithing can catch our modern sparks,
24 But well-tocher'd lasses or jointur'd widows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.