’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.