VIII
A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks,
A’ spiled wi’ lyin’ by for weeks,
The guidman follows closs, an’ cleiks
The sonsie misses;
His sarious face at aince bespeaks
The day that this is.
A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks,
A’ spiled wi’ lyin’ by for weeks,
The guidman follows closs, an’ cleiks
The sonsie misses;
His sarious face at aince bespeaks
The day that this is.