An’ gi’en till o’ manner o’ teulment was he;
Rayder lowce i’ religion, an’ careless o’ money,
But dear was my wild, thowtless Willie to me.
His life seemed meàd up of arrivin’s an’ sailin’s—
Rough hardship at sea, an’ fair daftness at heàm.
I cry’t ow’r his danger—I pray’t ow’r his failin’s,
An’ offen forgev what I cudn’t but bleàm.
An’ many a frind, an’ relation, an’ neighbour
Brong hints an’ queer teàls aboot Will to poor me;
But neighbours an’ frinds gat the’r pains for the’r labour,