Than ither folk and fend his sicht
Agen their jealous plots awhile
’ll use the poo’ers it seems to waste,
This purpose ser’d, in ither ways,
That may be better worth the bein’
—Or sae he dreams, syne mocks his dream
Till Life grows sheer awa’ frae him,
And bratts o’ darkness plug his een.
It may be nocht but cussedness,
But I’m content gin a’ my thocht