Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear
AH, woe is me, my mother dear!A man of strife ye’ve born me:For sair contention I maun bear;They hate, revile, and scorn me.
I ne’er could lend on bill or band,That five per cent. might blest me;And borrowing, on the tither hand,The deil a ane wad trust me.
Yet I, a coin-deniиd wight,By Fortune quite discarded;Ye see how I am, day and night,By lad and lass blackguarded!
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