His kyte's weel happit,
Fed an wattered reg'lar;
His sheen are blaiked,
His galluses are buttoned.
He kens tae pairt his hair,
If there be wint, that wint,
Is nae fur claes.
It's Reason, that he's tint.

Teem lauch, in timmer heid,
Far wits are scarce,
As hyacinths in heather.
He sweeps the sna,
An reels aff sangs he's heard
At some fireside,
Lang smored in aisse,
O' parks, straucht plooed
B' horse, an clinkin braisse.

His brukken logic's queer,
A clock that disna tick,
(It niver wis wun up).
Time only chimes for fowk
Like me, wha canna swick
The wheep o' winter's storm,
It's whyles a thocht, for me,
Tae face the morn.
Bit ilkie day till him
(The favour in the flaw)
'S a bairn new born.

Is it some Bethlehem star
That mak's his wye seem easy,
Mine, seem waur?

He tak's life as it cams,
A dreel tae howk;
Sae tell me
Fa is wise,
An fa's the gowk?