Late in an evening forth I went
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun:
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife,
I canna weel tell ye how it began;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,
Cryeng, 'Evir alake, mine auld goodman!'

He.
'The auld goodman that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn;
For he did spend and make an end
Of gear 'his fathers nevir' wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld good-man.'

She.
'My heart, alake! is liken to brake,
Whan I think on my winsome John,
His blinkan ee and gait sae free,
Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone;
Wi' his rosie fac and flaxen hair,
And skin as white as ony swan,
He was large and tall, and comely withall;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.'

He.
'Why dost thou plein? I thee maintein;
For meal and mawt thou disna want;
But thy wild bees I canna please
Now whan our gear gins to grow scant.
Of household stuff thou hast enough;
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.'

She.
'Yes, I may tell and fret my sell
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he together ley
In armes into a well-made bed;
But now I sigh and may be sad,
Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.'

Then coming was the night sae dark,
And gane was a' the light of day;
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae longer stay.
Then up he gat and ran his way,
I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray
Was, 'Evir alake! mine auld goodman!'