Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/11

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I was come round about the hill,
And todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,
To keep me sicker;
The' leeward whiles, against my will,
I took a bicker.

I there wi' something did forgather,
That pat me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,
Clear dangling hang;
A three-taed leister on the ither
Lay, large and lang.

It's stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
For fient a wame it had at ava;
And then it's shanks,
They were as thin, and sharp, and sma,
As cheeks o' branks.

Gude-een, quoʻI, Friend, hae ye been mawin,
When ither folk are busy sawin^[1]?
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
But naething spak:
At length says I, Friend, whare ye gaun?
Will ye gae back?

It spak right howe—My name is Death—
But bena floyd.—Quoth I, Gude faith
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath!
But tent me, billie;

1. This reincourter happened in Seed-time, 1785,