O poortith cauld, and restless love,
  Ye wrack my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive
  An 'twere na for my Jeanie.

Chorus:
  O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
  Life's dearest bands untwining?
  Or why sae sweet a flower as love,
  Depend on Fortune's shining?

This warld's wealth when I think on,
  Its pride, and a' the lave o't;
My curse on silly coward man,
  That he should be the slave o't.

Her een sae bonie blue betray,
  How she repays my passion;
But Prudence is her o'erword ay,
  She talks o' rank and fashion.

O wha can prudence think upon,
  And sic a lassie by him:
O wha can prudence think upon,
  And sae in love as I am?

How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate,
  He wooes his simple Dearie:
The silly bogles, Wealth and State,
  Did never make them eerie.