They neither winted fur claes, nur care
Nur a piece fur the playtime bell
Fowks quick tae gie, an slow tae blame
(Far there's nocht tae blacken their ain guid name)
Kennin the wye things sat at hame
Wi the throwither bairns o' Nell.

The heir till aabodys cassen cloots
Sud a baggerels brats be swell?
The dominie's semmit — the meenister's buits
Fine fur Nell, wi her squatter o geets
The guilty ghaist, in the weddin sheets
Wi her litter o love-grown-stale.

Time saftens scorn, an a gype's weel-tholed
It's lang, sin Nell hid a man
Wedded, ten times ower it wis said
Easily likit — an easier led
Bit niver in sicht o the merriege bed
Wi the gowd o grace on her haun

A pat in the passin — a penny in pooch
'Tis little her craiturs tae pleisur
For as can tell, that the mither is Nell
Bit there's naebody's sure o the faither!