Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, <br />Wi' saut tears tricklin down your nose; <br />Our bardie's fate is at a close, <br />Past a' remead! <br />The last, sad cape-stane o' his woes; <br />Poor Mailie's dead! <br /> <br />It's no the loss o' warl's gear, <br />That could sae bitter draw the tear, <br />Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear <br />The mourning weed: <br />He's lost a friend an' neebor dear <br />In Mailie dead. <br /> <br />Thro' a' the town she trotted by him; <br />A lang half-mile she could descry him; <br />Wi kindly bleat, when she did spy him, <br />She ran wi' speed: <br />A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, <br />Than Mailie dead. <br /> <br />I wat she was a sheep o' sense, <br />An' could behave hersel' wi' mense: <br />I'll say't, she never brak a fence, <br />Thro' thievish greed. <br />Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence <br />Sin' Mailie's dead. <br /> <br />Or, if he wanders up the howe, <br />Her livin image in her yowe <br />Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe, <br />For bits o' bread; <br />An' down the briny pearls rowe <br />For Mailie dead. <br /> <br />She was nae get o' moorland tips, <br />Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips; <br />For her forbears were brought in ships, <br />Frae 'yont the Tweed. <br />A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips <br />Than Mailie's dead. <br /> <br />Wae worth the man wha first did shape <br />That vile, wanchancie thing - a raip! <br />It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, <br />Wi' chokin dread; <br />An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape <br />For Mailie dead. <br /> <br />O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon! <br />An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! <br />Come, join the melancholious croon <br />O' Robin's reed! <br />His heart will never get aboon - <br />His Mailie's dead!<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-mailie-s-elegy/
