poor mailie's elegy
ment in rhyme, ment in prose,
wi' saut tears trig down your nose;
our bardie's fate is at a close,
past a' remead!
the st, sad cape-stane o' his woes;
poor mailie's dead!
it's no the loss o' warl's gear,
that could sae bitter draw the tear,
or mak our bardie, dowie, wear
the m weed:
he's lost a friend an' neebor dear
in mailie dead.
thro' a' the towrotted by him;
a ng half-mile she could descry him;
wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him,
she ran wi&
Poor Mailies Elegy(1/3)