As they begood to think o’ bed,
An opportunity I grippit,
Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid,
An’ furth into the rain I slippit.
An’ though the gate I hardly kent,
I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’,
I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent,
An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’.
An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last,
O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’,