Dear Jenny, if fortun should favour mi lot,
Mi own bonny wife tha shall be;
For trubbles an worries we'll care net a jot,
For we'll rout 'em wi' frolic an glee.
We'll have a snug cot wi' a garden at th' back,
An aw'll fix peearks i'th' cellar for hens;
Then a fresh egg for braikfast tha nivver need lack,
When thi fancy to sich a thing tends.
Some cheers an a table, an two-o'-three pans,
Some pots an a kettle for tea;
A bed an a creddle an smart kist o' drawers,
An a rockin-cheer, lass,—that's for thee.
Some books, an some picters to hing up o'th' wall,
To mak th' place luk nobby an neat;
An a rug up o'th' harstun to keep thi tooas warm,
An some slippers to put on thi feet.
An when Sundy comes,—off to th' chapel or church,
An when we get back we'll prepare,
Some sooart ov a meal,—tho its hooamly an rough,
If its whooalsum we nivver need care.
If we're blest wi' a bairn, we mun ne'er be put aght,
If it shows us its tempers an tiffs;
Soa Jenny, have patience, for th' change i' thi state,
Depends varry mich on theas "Ifs."