Or sick, or sair, O! carefu’ mind him,
Thy darling chiel!
And dinna lat him look behind him
Until he’s weel.
But if he’s gane, ah, wae’s to me!
His like we never mair shall see,—
Nae servile, whinging coof was he,
Led by a string,
But noble, gen’rous, fearless, free,
His sang he’d sing.