This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Dear aunty, I've been lang your care,
Your counsels guid ha'e blest me;
Now in a kittle case ance mair
Wi' your advice assist me:
Twa lovers frequent on me wait.
An' baith I frankly speak wi';
Sae I'm put in a puzzlin' strait
Whilk o' the twa to cleek wi'.
There's sonsy James, wha wears a wig,
A widower fresh and canty;
Though turn'd o' sixty, gaes fu' trig,
He's rich, and rowes in plenty.
Tam's twenty-five, hauds James's pleug
A lad deserves regardin';
He's clever, decent, sober too,
But he's no worth ae fardin'.
Auld James, 'tis true, I downa see
But's cash will answer a' things;
To be a lady pleases me,
And buskit be wi' braw things.
Tam I esteem, like him there's few.
His gait and looks entice me;
But, aunty, I'll now trust in you.
And fix as ye advise me.
Then aunt, wha spun, laid down her roke,
An' thus reply't to Mary:
Unequal matches in a yoke
Draw thrawart an' camstrarie.
Since gentle James ye dinna like,
Wi' 's gear ha'e nae connexion;
Tam's like yoursel', the bargain strike,
Grup to him wi' affection.