I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN.

I'M Tibby Fowler o' the glen,
 And nae great sight to see, sirs;
 But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
 Will never let me be, sirs. 

There's bonny Maggy o' the brae
 As gude as lass can be, sirs;
 But 'cause I'm rich these plaguy men
 Hae a' run wud for me, sirs. 

There's Nabob Jock comes strutting ben,
 He thinks the day's his sin, sirs;
 But were he a' hung round wi' goud,
 He'd find himsel mista'en, sirs. 

There's Wat aye tries to glowr and sigh
 That I may guess the cause, sirs;
 But Jenny-like I hate to spell
 Dumb Roger's hums and ha's, sirs. 

There's grinning Pate laughs a' day through,
 The blithest lad ye'll see, sirs;
 But troth he laughs sae out o' place,
 He'd laugh gin I did die, sirs. 

There's Sandy, he's sae fou o' lear,
 To talk wi' him is vain, sirs;
 For gin we a' should say 'twas fair,
 He'd prove that it did rain, sirs. 

Then Jamie frets for good and ill,
 'Bout sma' things makes a phrase, sirs;
 And fears and frets, and things o' nought
 Ding o'er his joyfu' days, sirs. 

The priests and lawyers ding me dead,
 But gude kens wha's the best, sirs;
 And then comes in the soldier brave,
 And drums out a' the rest, sirs. 

The country squire and city beau,
 I've had them on their knee, sirs;
 But weel I ken to goud they bow,
 And no to downright me, sirs. 

Should like o' them come ilka day,
 They may wear out the knee, sirs;
 And grow to the ground as fast as a stane,
 But they shall ne'er get me, sirs.