Ae night in dark December, when wintry blasts blew high,
Poor Jenny sat her i' the nook and wish'd her Jocky by:
Lang time thou'st promis'd me to come frae yonder busy town,
And gin ye dinna haste I fear the wrinkles will come soon;
For I hae fret mysel wi' care, thy face I canna see,
And when ilk lass is wi' her lad I sigh and wish for thee.

What signifies a mint o' gear when we are baith grown auld,
And when December i' the heart keeps turning a' things cauld?
Thou'lt grow sae cross, and I sae stiff, my will I winna bend,
For time aye hardens little fauts until they canna mend:
Men never will gie up their way, and I'll think mine the best,
And as sae lang we've courting been will be the younker's jest.

I'd have thee in an April morn when birds begin to sing,
Like them to choose thysel a mate, and hail the cheerfu' spring;
O haste to me while o'er thy way she strews the fairest flowers,
Nor suffer these poor een again to add to April showers;
I'll aye be gay, and ever smile, gin thou'lt make haste to me,
If no, I'll quickly change my mind, and think nae mair o' thee!