So here she lyes looking about her;
Looking about her! how can that be?
Yes, she sees her state, better than we.
An ELEGY on the Death of Jockey’s Mother
Now a’ body ken’s my Mither’s dead,
For weel a wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I saw her laid,
It was e’en right drole,
For her to change a warm fire side: