THERE was a jolly gauger, a gauging he did ride,
And he has met a beggar down by yon river side.
An’ we’ll gang nae mair a rovin’ wi’ ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi’ her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.

Amang the broom he laid her; amang the broom sae green,
And he ’s fa’n to the beggar, as she had been a queen.
An’ we’ll gang, &c.

My blessings on thee, laddie, thou ‘s done my turn sae weel,
Wilt thou accept, dear laddie, my pock and pickle meal?
An’ we’ll, &c.

Sae blyth the beggar took the bent, like ony bird in spring,
Sae blyth the beggar took the bent, and merrily did sing.
An’ we’ll, &c.

My bleesings on the gauger, o’ gaugers he ‘s the chief.
Sic kail ne’er crost my kettle, nor sic a joint o’ beef.
An’ we’ll, &c.