i'm feared ye'd spoil the lacing o't.

i'm o'er young, c.

hallowmass is e and gane,

the nights are lang in winter, sir,

and you an' i in ae bed,

in trowth, i dare na venture, sir.

i'm o'er young, c.

fu' loud an' shill the frosty wind

blaws thro' the leafless timmer, sir;

but if ye e this gate again;

i'll aulder be gin simmer, sir.

i'm o'er young, c.