And when our chaffering all was done, All was paid for, sold and done, We drew a glove on ilka hand, We sweetly curtsied, each to each, And deftly danced a saraband. The market-lassies look'd and laugh'd, Left their gear, and look'd and laugh'd; They made as they would join the game, But soon their mithers, wild and wud, With whack and screech they stopp'd the same. Sae loud the tongues o' randies grew, The flytin' and the skirlin' grew, At all the windows in the place, Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl, Was thrust out every hand and face.

And down each stair they throng'd anon, Gentle, semple, throng'd anon: Souter and tailor, frowsy Nan, The ancient widow young again, Simpering behind her fan. Without a choice, against their will, Doited, dazed, against their will, The market lassie and her mither, The farmer and his husbandman, Hand in hand dance a' thegither. Slow at first, but faster soon, Still increasing, wild and fast, Hoods and mantles, hats and hose, Blindly doff'd and cast away, Left them naked, heads and toes.

They would have torn us limb from limb, Dainty limb from dainty limb; But never one of them could win Across the line that I had drawn With bleeding thumb a-widdershin. But there was Jeff the provost's son, Jeff the provost's only son; There was Father Auld himsel', The Lombard frae the hostelry, And the lawyer Peter Fell. All goodly men we singled out, Waled them well, and singled out, And drew them by the left hand in; Mysie the priest, and Elspie won The Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle, I mysel' the provost's son.