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Cauld nor hunger never dang her, for
Wind nor rain could never wrang her,
Anes she lay an ouk and langer
Furth aneath a wreath o' snaw:
Whan ither ewies lap the dyke,
And eat the kail for a the tyke,
My ewie never play'd the like,
By tye'd about the barn wa;
A better nor a thriftier beast,
Nae honest man could weel hae wist,
For silly thing the never mist,
To hae ilk year a lank or awa;
The first she had I gae' to Jock,
To be to him a kind o' stock,
And now the laddie has a flock
O' mair than thirty head ava;
I lookit aye at eyen for her,
Left mishanter shou'd come o'er her,
Or the foumart might devour her,
Gin the beastie bade awa,
My ewie wi the crookit horn,
Well deserved baith girse and corn
Sic a ewe was never born,
Here about nor far awa.
