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5
Whan ye was in your aught year auld,
an I was in my nine,
Nae cauld nor cravin then ye kent,
In days of langfyne.
For auld langfyne
Then I put on my hirdies plaid,
an thou waft clad in thine,
We toddled o‘er the green-wood fhade,
In days of langfyne.
For auld langfyne
Wi‘ bread and cheefe in ilka pouch,
to pleafe our wamies fine,
We drank our fairin fae the burn,
In days of langfyne.
For auld langfyne
Whan I had done wi‘ my bit piece,
Then I got fome of thine,
An what I had was a your ain,
In days of langfyne.
For auld langfyne
Through a thee (illegible text) our whiftle rang
with melody fo fine,
