THE AULD WIFE'S LAMENT FOR HER COW.
O, wae's my heart, puir Doddie's dead!
A better coo ne'er crapt the mead;
'Twas a' by her I wan my bread—
O the worthy beastie!
She baited by the green road-side,
Or by the burnie's wimplin' tide;
Wi' her I didna need to bide—
O the trusty beastie!
Content wi' thrissle, girse, or thorn,
She wadna touch the mester's corn,
But luit it ripen and be shorn—
O the thochtfu' beastie!
She never haikit like a hound,
But keepit aye on hamely ground,
And never needit to be bound—
O the cannie beastie!
Nae horns had she, nor bell nor hawk,
But dark-broon sides and gowden back,
Her sonsie wame as white as cauk—
O the bonnie beastie!
Her milk like yellow cream distill'd,
Three times a-day the cog she fill'd,
And but a wee while gaed she yell'd—
O the usefu' beastie!
She was to me baith milk and bread,
But, wae's my heart, puir Doddie's dead,
And I may lay my weary head
Doon aside my beastie!
