We’d gitten hoaf o’ t’ way up t’ lwoan,—nār Edward Beeby’ yat,
An’ theear we stopp’t, for marcy me! a parlish freeght we gat,
Lood greàns we heard—lang hollow beels, ’at shak’t oor varra beàns,
“For God-seàk, lads, mak on,” sez yan, “them’s t’ heidless woman’ greàns!”
“But nay,” sez I, “if wantin’ t’ heid, she raises sec a rout,
I’d like to see what way she taks to fetch sec haybays oot;
They say yan stops a woman’s noise when yan taks off her heid,
But this, by gock! wad mak yan sweer they’re noisy whick or deid.”
It’s Burns ’at sez Jwohn Barleycworn can mak yan bold as brass;
An’ Isbel’ drink meàd me quite keen this greànin’ thing to feàce.