And were ye at Duntocher burn

And were ye at Duntocher burn, And did ye see them a', man? And how's my wifie and the bairns? I hae been lang awa', man. That cotton wark's a weary trade, It does na' suit ava, man; Wi' lanely house, and lanely bed, My comforts are but sma', man. And how's wee Sandy, Pate, and Tam? Sit down and tak' your blew, man: Fey, lassie, rin, fetch in a dram, To treat my friend, John Lamon'. For ilka plack you've gi'en to mine, Your callans shall get twa, man; O were my heels as licht's my heart, I soon would see them a', man. My blessing on her kindly heart, She likes to see me brew, man; She's darn'd my hose, and bleach'd my sarks As white's the driven snaw, man. And ere the winds o' Martinmas Sough through the scroggie shaw, man, I'll lift my weel-hain'd penny fee, And gang and see them a', man.