3
Donald Caird can wield a spade,
Fast as onv o' the trade;
Houk a hole, or lay a stane,
Gleg as ony 'round the glea:
Let him taste the barley-brae,
The mools he'il cast a storey hie,
Then rattling stane, and skulls a' bare,
Are flung, Jike dirt, by Donald Caird.
Whiles Donald roars, when nane are deeing
Hoot man! it's a trade no worth ha'ing;
It is na constant bread ava;
Yet faith he winna fling't awa.
Now kintry bodies be good to Donald,
For he's cam aff the great Clan Ronald;
He'll watch the kirk yard after ten;
Donald Caird's come again.
THE BOATIE ROWS.
O weel may, the boatie row,
And better may she speed;
And liesome may the boatie row,
That wins the bairns' bread.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And weel may the boatie row,
That wins my bairns' bread.
