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poor ailie&039;s elegy

nt rhy, nt prose,

wi&039; saut tears tricklg down your nose;

our bardie&039;s fate is at a close,

past a&039; read!

the st, sad cape-stane o&039; his woes;

poor ailie&039;s dead!

it&039;s no the loss o&039; warl&039;s ar,

that uld sae bitter draw the tear,

or ak our bardie, dowie, wear

the ourng weed:

he&039;s lost a friend an&039; neebor dear

ailie dead

thro&039; a&039; the town she trotted by hi;

a ng half-ile she uld descry hi;

wi&039; kdly bleat, when she did spy hi,

she ran wi&039; speed:

a friend air faithfu&039; ne&039;er ca nigh hi,

than ailie dead

i wat she was a sheep o&039; sense,

an&039; uld behave hersel&039; wi&039; nse:

i&039;ll say&039;t, she never brak a fence,

thro&039; thievish greed

our bardie, nely, keeps the spence

s&039; ailie&039;s dead

or, if he wanders up the howe,

her livg ia her yowe

es bleatg till hi, owre the knowe,

for bits o&039; bread;

an&039; down the bry pearls rowe

for ailie dead

she was nae t o&039; oornd tips,

wi&039; tauted ket, an&039; hairy hips;

for her forbears were brought ships,

frae &039;yont the eed

a bonier fleesh ne&039;er cross&039;d the clips

than ailie&039;s dead

wae worth the an wha first did shape

that vile, wanchancie thg—a raip!

it aks guid fellows girn an&039; gape,

wi&039; chok dread;

an&039; rob&039;s bon wave wi&039; crape

for ailie dead

o, a&039; ye bards on bonie doon!

an&039; wha on ayr your chanters tune!

e, jo the ncholio croon

o&039; rob&039;s reed!

his heart will never t aboon—

his ailie&039;s dead!