[weep]
'My poor tup-lamb, my son an' heir,
O bid him breed him up wi' care!
An', if he live to be a beast,
To pit some havins in his breast! [put, behavior]
An' warn him, what I winna name, [will not]
To stay content wi' yowes at hame; [ewes]
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, [hoofs]
Like ither menseless graceless brutes. [unmannerly]
'An neist my yowie, silly thing, [next]
Gude keep thee frae a tether string!
O may thou ne'er forgather up [make friends]
Wi' ony blastit moorland tup;
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, [nibble, meddle]
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!
'And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith;
An' when you think upo' your mither,
Mind to be kind 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.' [bladder]
This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head,
An' closed her een amang the dead! [eyes]
POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose,
Wi' saut tears tricklin' down your nose, [salt]
Our bardie's fate is at a close,
Past a' remead; [remedy]
The last sad cape-stane of his woes-- [cope-stone]
Poor Mailie's dead!
It's no the loss o' warl's gear [worldly lucre]
That could sae bitter draw the tear,
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear [downcast]
The mourning weed:
He's lost a friend and neibor dear
In Mailie dead.
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