Fa' owre, fa' owre, my hinny,
There's mony a weary airt;
And nae end to the traikin,
For man has a hungry hert.

What wud ye hae for ferlie
And no ken the want o' mair?
The sün for a gowdan aipple:
The müne for a siller pear.
~~~~~~~

Go to sleep my darling,
There’s many a weary heart.
And no end to life's travelling,
For man has a hungry hurt.

What would you have for wonder?
And not know the want of more.
The sun for a golden apple.
The moon for a silver pear.