’Tis his own wife best deserves it,
Hand to distribute the Christmas cakes.
Rise down, young wife,
And young wife who hast earned praise;
Rise (and come) down, as you were wont,
And bring down our Calluinn to us.
The cheese, that has the smooth face,
And butter eye has not blinked;
But if you have not that beside you,
Bread and flesh will suffice.