n rhyme, lament in prose,
Wi' saut tears tricklin' down your nose, [salt]
Our bardie's fate is at a close,
Past a' remead; [remedy]
The last sad cape-stane of his woes-- [cope-stone]
Poor Mailie's dead!

It's no the loss o' warl's gear [worldly lucre]
That could sae bitter draw the tear,
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear [downcast]
The mourning weed:
He's lost a friend and neibor dear
In Mailie dead.

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him;
A lang half-mile she could descry him;
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him,
She ran wi' speed:
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him
Than Mailie dead.

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, [wot]
An' could behave hersel wi' mense; [manners]
I'll say't, she never brak a fence
Thro' thievish greed.
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence [parlor]
Sin' Mailie's dead. [Since]

Or, if he wanders up the howe, [glen]
Her living image in her yowe [ewe-lamb]
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, [knoll]
For bits o' bread,
An' down the briny pearls rowe [roll]
For Mailie dead.

She was nae get o' moorland tups, [issue]
Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips; [matted fleece]
For her forbears were brought in ships
Frae 'yont the Tweed;
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips [fleece, shears]
Than Mailie's, dead.

Wae worth the man wha first did shape [Woe to]
That vile wanchancie thing--a rape! [dangerous]
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, [growl]
Wi' chokin' dread;
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape
For Mailie dead.

O a' ye bards on bonnie Doon!
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! [bagpipes]
Come, join the melancholious croon
O' Robin's reed;
His heart will neve