And, Rab, I’m just as wae for thee,
As ever thou can’st be for me,
For less ye let the drink abee,
I’ll tak’ my aith,
Ye’ll a’ gang wrang, and, maybe, dee
A drunkard’s death.
Sure as ye mourned the daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine, nae distant date,
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,