We ’bood to ha’e a thimblefu’ first,
And syne we’ll toom an ocean!...
“To Luna at the Craidle-and-Coffin
To sof’n her hert if owt can sof’n:—
Auld bag o’ tricks, ye needna come
And think to stap me in your womb.
You needna fash to rax and strain.
Carline, I’ll no be born again
In ony brat you can produce.
Carline, gi’e owre—O what’s the use?