human
O want ye roses to your breast, Or ribbons to your sheen? Or want ye as muckle o' dear bought luve As your heart can conteen?
gpt
I'd rather ha'e a fire behynd, 165 Anither me before; A gude midwife at my right side, Till my young babe be bore.
human
I'll kindle a fire wi' a flint stane, Bring wine in a green horn; 170 I'll be midwife at your right side, Till your young babe be born.