Winna ye haud?
Ye're surely mad!
Is there naebody there to gie ye a dad,
Menseless laverock?
Come doon and conform,
Pyke an honest worm,
And hap yer bairns frae the comin storm,
Spendrife laverock!
The Bird sings:
My nestie it lieth
I' the how o' a ban';
The swing o' the scythe
'Ill miss 't by a span.
The lift it's sae cheery!
The win' it's sae free!
I hing ower my dearie,
And sing 'cause I see.
My wifie's wee breistie
Grows warm wi' my sang,
And ilk crumpled-up beastie
Kens no to think lang.
Up here the sun sings, but
He only shines there!
Ye haena nae wings, but
Come up on a prayer.
The man sings:
Ye wee daurin cratur,
Ye rant and ye sing
Like an oye o' auld Natur
Ta'en hame by the king!
Ye wee feathert priestie,
Yer bells i' yer thro't,
Yer altar yer breistie,
Yer mitre forgot—