6
The sheep are conring i’ the heugh,
O sirs! it's winter fairly.
Now up in the morning's no for rue,
Up in the morning early;
I'd rather gang supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Rude rairs the blast amang the woods
The branches tirlin barely;
Amang the chimley taps it thuds,
And frost is nippen sairly.
Now up in the morning’s no for me,
Up in the morning early;
To sit a' night I'd rather agree,
Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o’er yon southlan’ hill,
Like onie 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,
