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Whan ye was in your aught year auld,

an I was in my nine,

Nae cauld nor cravin then ye kent,

In days of langfyne.

For auld langfyne

Then I put on my hirdies plaid,

an thou waft clad in thine,

We toddled o‘er the green-wood fhade,

In days of langfyne. For auld langfyne

Wi‘ bread and cheefe in ilka pouch,

to pleafe our wamies fine,

We drank our fairin fae the burn,

In days of langfyne.

For auld langfyne

Whan I had done wi‘ my bit piece,

Then I got fome of thine,

An what I had was a your ain,

In days of langfyne.

For auld langfyne

Through a thee our whiftle rang

with melody fo fine,