And at cock-craw, when day does daw,
You’ll blyther far than drunkards be.
Ne’er waste your hours wi’ merry boys,
Who to strong drink for pleasure flee;
For if at night they merry be,
You know the pains next morn they dree.
Then get na fou’, etc.
“The moon, that frae her silver horn,
Pours radiance over tower and tree,”
Should never shine “to wile folk hame,”