Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spake na, but gaed by like stoure !
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day
    Ye wadna been sae shy;
    For lack o' gear ye lightly me,
    But trowth I care na by.

When comin hame on Sunday last,
Upon the road as I cam past,
Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast —
But, trowth, I care't na by !
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...
 
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...

But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean,
Although his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high !
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...

Although a lad were e'er sae smart,
If he but want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...

But Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice:
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice,
The deil a ane would speir your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...

There lives a lass in beside yon park,
I'd rather hae her in her sark
Than you wi' a' your thousand mark,
That gars you look sae high.
    O Tibbie! I hae seen the day...