6
Rude rairs the blast amang the woods,
The branches tirlin barely;
Amang the chimney-taps it thuds,
And frost is nippin sairly.
Now up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
To sit a' the night I'd rather agree,
Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill,
Like ony timorous carlie;
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,
And that we find severely.
Now up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek
Wha'd rise in the morning early.
Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush,
Poor things, they suffer sairly;
In cauldrife quarters a' the night,
A'day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
No fate can be waur, in winter time,
Than rise in the morning early.
