And when they meet wi' sair disasters, sore
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters,
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer almost
And they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; must
But how it comes I never kent yet. knew
They're maistly wonderfu' contented;
An' buirdly chiels and clever hizzies stout lads, girls
Are bred in sic a way as this is.
caesar
But then, to see how ye're negleckit,