1.
Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
2.
I ne'er could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust me.
3.
Yet I, a coin-denyed wight,
By Fortune quite discarded,
Ye see how I am day and night
By lad and lass blackguarded!

Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear!
A man of strife you have born me:
For sore contention I must bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.

I never could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might have blessed me;
And borrowing, on the other hand,
The devil a one would trust me.

Yet I, a coin denied sturdy person,
By Fortune quite discarded,
You see how I am day and night
By boy and girl abused!