And weary winter comin' fast.
And cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell;
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out through thy cell.
That wee bit heap o'leaves and stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hauld,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble