So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hals-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonny blue een:
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sail ken where he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sail blaw for evermair."—