Farewell my flute, then, yet to Carlisle fair,
When to the stationer's I'll stright repair,
And bauldly for thur compliments enquear -
Care I a fardin? - let the 'prentice jeer.

That dune, a handsome letter I'll indite,
Handsome as ever country lad did write;
A letter 'at sall tell her aw' I feel,
And aw' my wants without a blush reveal.

But now the clouds brek off, and sineways run;
Out frae his shelter lively luiks the sun;
Brave hearty blasts the droopin barley dry:
The lads are gaen to sheer, and sae mun I.