Classic Poem

Oh! what wad I do gin my Maggy were dead?
Oh! what wad I do gin my Maggy were dead?
This wud e'en be a wearifu' warld indeed
To me, gin my ain canny Maggy were dead.

Bairns brocht up thegither, baith nursed on ae knee,
Baith slung ower ae cuddy, fu' weel did we gree;
Tho' I was born armless, an' aye unco wee,
My Maggy was muckle, an' bunted for me.

When Meg grew a woman, an' I grew a man,
She gruppit my stump, for I hadna a han',
An' we plichted our troth ower a big bag o' skran,
Thegither true-hearted to beg thro' the lan'.

Mony big loons hae hechted to wyle her awa',
Baith thimblers, and tumblers, and tinklers an' a';
But she jeers them, an' tells them her Willie, tho' sma',
Has mair in his buik than the best o' them a'.

I'm feckless, an' frien'less, distorted and wee,
Canna cast my ain claes, nor yet claw my ain knee;
But she kens a' my wants, an' does a' thing for me—
Gin I wantit my Maggy, I'm sure I wad dee.

Then what wad I do gin my Maggy were dead?
Oh! what wad I do gin my Maggy were dead?
This wad e'en be a wearifu' warld indeed
To me, gin my ain canny Maggy were dead.