His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie, fire
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, worry
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil.
Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, Soon
At service out, amang the farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin drive, heedful run
A cannie errand to a neibor town: quiet
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,