I canna biel’t; tho’ steekin’ an e’e
Tither’s munkie wi’ munebeam for knool in’t,
For there’s nae sta’-tree and the brute’s awa’
Wi’ me kinkin’ like foudrie ahint....
Sae Eternity’ll buff nor stye
For Time, and shies at a touch, man;
Yet aye in a belth o’ Thocht
Comes alist like the Fleein’ Dutchman....
As the worms’ll breed in my corpse until
It’s like a rice-puddin’, the thistle