Your apron o' the sallads neat,
That taste baith sweet and fine.

"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade,
That is baith brade and lang;
Narrow, narrow at the cute,
And brade, brade at the brawn.

"Your gloves sail be the marigold,
All glittering to your hand,
Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort,
That grows amang corn-land."

"O fare ye well, young man," she says,
"Fareweil, and I bid adieu;
If you can fancy me," she says,
"I canna fancy you.

"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me
Amang the simmer flowers,
It's I'se provide anither for you,
Amang the winter-showers:

"The new fawn snaw to be your smock;
It becomes your bodie best;
Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind,
And the cauld rain on your breast."

* * * * *