The cells that mak’ a’e sliver wi’m,
The threidy knit he’s woven wi’,
’Ud fain destroy what sicht he has
O’ this puir transitory stage,
Yet tho’ he kens the fragment is
O’ little worth he e’er can view,
Jalousin’ it’s a cheatrie weed,
He tyauves wi’ a’ his micht and main
To keep his sicht despite his kind
Conspirin’ as their nature is