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DEATH AND DYING WORDS
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.
An unco mournfw Tale.
As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,
* A neibor herd-callan.
Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's,
• O, thou, whase lamentable face
• Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle
gear as buy a sheep,
• Tell him, he was a master kin',
• 0, bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives !
But gie them guid cow milk their fill,
. An' may they never learn the
greet for them when they're dead.
• My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir,
· An' niest my yowie, silly thing, Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 0, may thou ne'er forgather up O Wi' ony
blastit, moorland toop; But ay keep mind to moop an' mell Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel !
And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath,
baith : An' when you think upo' your mither, Mind to be kin' to ane anither.
Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail To tell my master a' my tale ;
' An' bid him burn this cursed tether, An' for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.'
This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, And closed her een amang the dead.
POOR POOR MAILIE'S
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose,
, Wi’ saut tears trickling down your nose ; Our bardie's fate is at a close,
Past a' remead; The last sad cape-stane of his woes;
Poor Mailie's dead !
Its no the loss o' warl's
gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear, Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear
The mourning weed : He's lost a friend and neebor dear,
In Mailie dead.
Thro' a'the toun she trotted by him; A lang half-mile she could descry him ; Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, ,
She ran wi' speed: A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him,
Than Mailie dead.