Gi'E Me a Lass Wi' a Lump O' Land.

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Gi'e me a lass wi' a lump o' land,
And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure:
Gin ¹ I had ance her cash in my hand,
Should love turn dowf,² it will find pleasure.
Laugh on wha likes: but there's my hand,
I hate with poortith, though bonnie, to meddle;
Unless they bring cash, or a lump o' land,
They'se ne'er get me to dance to their fiddle.

There's meikle gude love in bands and bags
And siller and gowd's a sweet complexion
But beauty and wit, and virtue in rags,
Have tint ³ the art of gaining affection:
Love tips his arrows with woods and parks,
And castles, and riggs, and muirs, and meadows;
And naething can catch our modem sparks,
But weel-tocher'd lasses or jointur'd widows