ELEGY
On LUCKY WOOD.
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1.
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O CANNYGATE poor Ellritch hole
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What Loss what Crosses does thou thole?
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London and Death garrs thee look droll
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and hing thy head;
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Wow but thou has e'ne a cald Coal
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to Blaw indeed.
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2.
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Hear me ye Hills and every Glen,
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Ilk Craig, ilk Cleugh, and hollow Den,
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And Echo shrill that aa way ken
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the Waefow Thud
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Be Rackless Death wha came unsen
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to Lucky Wood.
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3.
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She's Dead ou're true, she's Dead and gane,
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Left us and WILLY burd alane,
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To Bleer and Greet to Sob and Mane
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and Rive our Hair;
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Because we'le ne're see her again
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our Hearts are Sair.
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4.
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She gae'd as sait as a new Prin,
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And kept her Houssie Snod and Been;
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Her Peuter glanc'd upo your Een
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like Siller Plate;
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She was a donsy Wife and clean
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without Debate.
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5.
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It did ane good to see her Stools,
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Boord, Fireside and Facing Tools,
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Rax, Chandlers, Tangs and Fire-shools
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Basket wi Bread
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Poor Facers now may chew Pea-hools
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since Luky's Dead.
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6.
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She ne're gae in a Lawin faass,
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Nor Stoups aw froath aboon the haass,
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Nor kept dow'd Tip within her Waa's
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but Reeming Swats,
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She never ran four Jute, because
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it gee's the Bats.
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7.
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She had the Gate so well to please
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With GRATIS Beef, dry Fish or Cheese,
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Which kept our Purses ay at ease
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and Health in Tift,
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And lent her fresh Nine Gallon Trees
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a hearty Lift.
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8.
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She gae us aft hale Legs o Lamb,
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And did nae hain her Mutton Ham,
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And ay at Yule when e're we came
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a braw Goose Pye,
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And was nae that good Belly baum
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nane dare deny.
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9.
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The Writer Lads fou well may mind her,
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Furthy was she, her Luck design'd her
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Their common Mither, sure nane kinder
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e're brake Bread;
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She has nae left her Maik behind her,
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but now she's Dead.
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10.
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To the smaa Hours we aft sat still,
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Nick'd round our Toasts and Snishing Mill,
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Which aften cost us many a Gill
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to Aickenhead;
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Good Cakes we wanted ne're at will
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the best of Bread.
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11.
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Cou'd our saat Tears like Clyde down rin,
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And had we Cheeks like Corra's Lin,
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That aa the Warld might hear the din
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Rair frae ilk head;
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She was the wale of aa her Kin,
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but now she's Dead.
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12.
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O LUCKY WOOD its hard to bear
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The Loss but Oh! we mann forbear,
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Yet fall thy Memory be dear
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while Blooms a Tree,
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And after Ages Bairns will spear
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THE AND ME.
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EPITAPH.
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BEneath this Sod lyes LUCKY WOOD,
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Whom aa Men might put Faith in,
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Who was nae sweer while she liv'd here,
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To cram our Wames for naithing.
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