8 Quietly to his bed he slippet, Sighen aften to himsel'. Nane are free frae some vexation, Ilk ane has his ills to dree; But through a' the hale creation, Is a mortal vext like me!' A night lang he rout and gauntet, Sleep nor rest he cou'dna tak! Maggy, aft wi' horror hauntet, Mum'lin started at his back. Soon as e'er the morning peepet, Up raise Watty, waefu' chiel, Kist his weanies while they sleepet, Waukent Meg, and sought farewell. Farewell, Meg !--And O! may heav'n Keep you ay within his care ; Watty's heart ye've lang been grievin', Now he'll never fash you mair. Happy cou'd I been beside you, Happy, baith at morn and e'en; A' the ills did e'er betide you, Watty aye turn't out your frien'. But ye ever like to see me, Vext and sighin', late and air,
