bitter in idol i lickit my winnins

o' marrying bess, to gie her a ve:

blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens,

and blythe be the bird that sings on her grave!

e to my arms, my katie, my katie;

o e to my arms and kiss me again!

drucken or sober, here's to thee, katie!

an' blest be the day i did it again.