Gi'e me a lass

Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land,

And we for life shall gang thegither;

Tho' daft or wise, I'll ne'er demand,

Or black or fair, it maksna whether.

I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade,

And blood alane's nae worth a shilling;

But she that's rich, her market's made,

For ilka charm about her's killing.

Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land,

And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure;

Gin I had ance her gear in my hand,

Should love turn dowf, 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 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 modern sparks,

But weel-tocher'd lasses, or jointured widows.