In winter when the rain rain'd cauld,
  And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas wi' his blasts sae bauld,
  Was threat'ning o' our kye to kill;
Then Bell my wife, wha loves na strife,
  She said to me right hastily,
"Get up, gudeman, save Cromie's life,
  And tak' your auld cloak about ye.

"My Cromie is a usefu' cow,
  And she is come of a good kine !
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou',
  And I am laith that she should tyne.
Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time,
  The sun shines in the lift sae hie ;
Sloth never made a gracious end,
  Go tak' your auld cloak about ye."

 ... 

"In days when our King Robert rang,
  His trews they cost but half a crown; 
He said they were a groat o'er dear,
  And call'd the tailor for thief and loun. 
He was the king that wore a crown,
  And thou'rt a man of laigh degree;
'Tis pride puts a' the country down,
  Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye."

 ... 

Bell my wife, she loves na strife,
  But she wad guide me, if she can; 
And to maintain an easy life,
  I aft maun yield, tho' I'm gudeman. 
Nought's to be won at woman's hand,
  Unless ye give her a' the plea ; 
Then I'll leave off where I began,
  And tak' my auld cloak about me.