Dorothy sits i' the cauld ingle neuk;
Her red rosy neb's like a labster tae,
Wi' girning, her mou's like the gab o' the fleuk,
Wi' smoking, her teeth's like the jet o' the slae.
And aye she sings 'Weel's me !' aye she sings 'Weel's me!
Coggie, thou meals me, coggie, thou heals me;
Aye my best friend, when there's ony thing ails me:
Ne'er shall we part till the day that I die.'

Dorothy ance was a weel tocher'd lass,
Had charms like her neighbours, and lovers anew,
But she spited them sae, wi' her pride and her sauce,
They left her for thirty lang summers to rue.
Then aye she sang 'Wae's me !' aye she sang 'Wae's me!
O I'll turn crazy, O I'll turn crazy !
Naething in a' the wide world can ease me,
De'il take the wooers-O what shall I do !'

Dorothy, dozen'd wi' living her lane,
Pu'd at her rock, wi' the tear in her e'e,
She thought on the braw merry days that were gane,
And caft a wee coggie for company.
Now aye she sings 'Weel's me !' aye she sings 'Weel's me!
Coggie, thou heals me, coggie, thou heals me;
Aye my best friend, when there's ony thing ails me:
Ne'er shall we part till the day that I die.'