The strae was cauld, he was away;
She clapt her hands, cry’d, Waladay!
For some of our gear will be gane.
Some ran to coffers, and some to kists,
But nought was stown that coud be mist;
She danc’d her lane, cry’d, Praise be blest,
I have lodg’d a leal poor man!
6
‘Since nathing’s awa, as we can learn,
The kirn’s to kirn and milk to earn;