Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/105

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When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep,
And threaten'd labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap
Aboon the timmer;
I kend my Maggie wadna sleep
For that, or simmer.

In cart nor car thou never reectit;
The stayest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
Thou never lap, and stent, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairntime a',
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw:
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa,
That thou hast nurst:
They drew me thretteen pund and twa,
The very warst.

Monie a sair darg we twa hae wrought,
And wi' the weary warl' fought;
And monie an anxious day I thought
We wad been beat;
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld trusty servan',
That now, perhaps, thou's less deservin,
And thy auld days may end in starvin,
For my last fou,
A heapit simpart, I'll reserve ane
Laid by for yon.