Cauld blaws the win’ frae north to ſouth, an’ drift is driving fairly: The ſheep is couring in the heugh, O ſirs! it’s Winter fairly. Now up the morning’s no for me, up in the morning early, I’d rather gae ſupperleſs to my bed, than riſe in the morning early.
Rude rairs the blaſt amang the woods, the branches tirlin barely; Amang the chimney-taps it thuds, an’ froſt is nippin fairly. Now up in the morning’s no for me, up in the morning early: To ſit a’ the night wad better agree, than riſe in the morning early.
The ſun peeps o’er the ſouthian hills, like ony timerous carlie; Juſt blinks a wee, then ſinks again, an’ that we fin’ ſeverely. Now up in the morning’s no for me, up in the morning early; When ſnaw blaws in to the chimney cheek; wha’d riſe in the morning early?
