Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, Th（2 / 3）

  my helpless lambs, i trust them wi' him.
  “o, bid him save their harmless lives,
  frae dogs, an' tods, an' butcher's knives!
  but gie them guid cow-milk their fill,
  till they be fit to fend themsel';
  an' tent them duly, e'en an' morn,
  wi' taets o' hay an' ripps o' corn.
  “an' may they never learn the gaets,
  of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets—
  to slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal
  at stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail!
  so may they, like their great forbears,
  for mony a year come thro the shears:
  so wives will gie them bits o' bread,
  an' bairns greet for them when they're dead.
  “my poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir,
  o, bid him breed him up wi' care!
  an' if he live to be a beast,
  to pit some havins in his breast!
  “an' warn him—what i winna name—
  to stay content wi' yowes at hame;
  an' no to rin an' wear his cloots,
  like ither menseless, graceless brutes.
  “an' neist, my yowie, silly thing,
  gude keep thee frae a tether string!
  o, may thou ne'er forgather up,
  wi' ony blastit, moorland toop;
  but aye keep mind to moop an' mell,
  wi' sheep o' credit like thysel'!
  “and now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, ↑返回顶部↑