And pickle-makers awn the hills.
There is nae life in a’ the land
But this infernal Thistle kills....
Nae mair I see
As aince I saw
Mysel’ in the thistle
Harth and haw!
Nel suo profondo vidi che s’interna
Legato con amore in un volume
(Or else by Hate, fu’ aft the better Love)