Page:Tibby Fowler (3).pdf/4

 Rude rairs the blast amang the woods,

The branches tirlin barely,

Amang the chimney-taps it thuds,

And frost is nippin 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 southland hill,

Like ony timorous carlie;

Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,

And that we find severely.

Now up in 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,

Up in the morning early;

No fate can be waur, in winter time,

Than rise in the morning early: