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Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time ;
The sun shines in the lift sae hie :
Sloth never made a gracious end,
Gae tak your auld cloak about ye.
My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak*
When it was fitting for my wear j
But now its scantly worth a groat,
For I hae worn't this thretty year.
Let's spend the gear that we hae won ;
We little ken the day we'll die ;
Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn
To hae a new cloak about me.
In days when our king Robert rang,
His trews they cost but half a crown ;
He said they were a groat owre dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief and loun.
He was the king that wore a crown,
And thou a man o' low degree ;
It's pride puts a' the country down,
Sae tak your auld cloak about ye.
Ev'ry land has its ain laugh,
Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool,
I think the warld is a' run wrang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule :

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