To tell my master a' my tale;
An' bid him burn this cursed tether;
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.’ bladder
This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head,
An' closed her een amang the dead! eyes
POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose,
Wi' saut tears tricklin' down your nose, salt
Our bardie's fate is at a close,
Past a' remead; remedy