(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost),
They faintly droop for a little hour;
My lady's head droops like a flower.
She took the porcelain in her hand
(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost);
She poured; I drank at her command;
Drank deep, and now—you understand!
(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost.)
9.—(Burns, who liked it adulterated)
Weel, gin ye speir, I'm no inclined,