And ye sall walk in silk attire, 
And siller hae to spare,
Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, 
Nor think o' Donald mair.
Oh, wha wad buy a silken gown,
Wi' a poor broken heart,
Or what's to me a siller crown,
Gin frae my love I part?

 ... 

His gentle manners wan my heart,
He, gratefu', took the gift; 
Cou'd I but think, to seek it back, 
It would be waur than theft.
For langest life can ne'er repay 
The love he bears to me,
And e'er I'm forced to break my troth, 
I'll lay me down and die.