There dwalt a man into the west,
⁠And O gin he was cruel,
For on his bridal night at e'en
⁠He gat up and grat for gruel.
They brought to him a gude sheep head,
⁠A napkin and a towel:
Gar tak' thae whim-whams fer frae me,
⁠And bring to me my gruel.

But there's nae meal in a' the house,
⁠What will we do, my jewel?
Get up the powk and shake it out,
⁠I winna want my gruel.
But there's nae milk in a' the house,
⁠Nor yet a spunk o' fuel:
Gae warm it in the light o' the moon,
⁠I winna want my gruel.

O lake-a-day for my first wife,
⁠Wha was baith white and rosie,
She cheer'd me aye at e'ening fa'
⁠Wi' something warm and cozie:
Farewell to pleasant draps o' drink,
⁠To butter brose and gruel;
And farewell to my first sweet wife,
⁠My cannie Nancy Newell.