stly, jamie, for yoursel,
may guardian aak a spell,
an' steer you seven miles south o' hell:
but first, before you see heaven's glory,
may ye get mony a merry story,
mony a ugh, and mony a drink,
and aye eneugh o' needfu' k.
now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you:
for my sake, this i beg it o' you,
assist poor simson a' ye ,
ye'll fin; him just an ho man;
sae i clude, and quat my ter,
your's, saint or sinner,
rob the ranter.