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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506443" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, The</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Author's Only Pet Yowe <br> <br>An Unco Mournfu' Tale <br> <br>As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, <br>Was ae day nibbling on the tether, <br>Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, <br>An owre she warsl'd in the ditch: <br>There, groaning, dying, she did lie, <br>When Hughoc he cam doytin by. <br> <br>Wi' glowrin een, and lifted han's <br>Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; <br>He saw her days were near-hand ended, <br>But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it! <br>He gaped wide, but naething spak, <br>At length poor Mailie silence brak. <br> <br>&quot;O thou, whase lamentable face <br>Appears to mourn my woefu' case! <br>My dying words attentive hear, <br>An' bear them to my Master dear. <br> <br>&quot;Tell him, if e'er again he keep <br>As muckle gear as buy a sheep - <br>O, bid him never tie them mair, <br>Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! <br>But ca' them out to park or hill, <br>An' let them wander at their will: <br>So may his flock increase, an' grow <br>To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo'! <br> <br>&quot;Tell him, he was a Master kin', <br>An' aye was guid to me an' mine; <br>An now my dying charge I gie him, <br>My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. <br> <br>&quot;O, bid him save their harmless lives, <br>Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! <br>But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, <br>Till they be fit to fend themsel'; <br>An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, <br>Wi' taets o' hay an' ripps o' corn. <br> <br>&quot;An' may they never learn the gates, <br>Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets - <br>To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal <br>At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail! <br>So may they, like their great forbears, <br>For mony a year come thro' the shears: <br>So wives will gie them bits o' bread, <br>An bairns greet for them when they're dead. <br> <br>&quot;My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, <br>O, bid him breed him up wi' care! <br>An' if he live to be a beast, <br>To pit some havins in his breast! <br>An' warn him - what I winna name - <br>To stay content wi' yowes at hame; <br>An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, <br>Like ither meseless, graceless brutes. <br> <br>&quot;An' neist, my yowie, silly thing, <br>Gude keep thee frae a tether string! <br>O, may thou ne'er forgather up, <br>Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop; <br>But aye keep mind to moop an' mell, <br>Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel'! <br> <br>&quot;And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, <br>I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith: <br>An' when you think upo' your mither, <br>Mind to be kind to ane anither. <br> <br>&quot;Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, <br>To tell my master a' my tale; <br>An' bid him burn this cursed tether, <br>An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather.&quot; <br> <br>This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, <br>An' closed her een amang the dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Burns">Robert Burns</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506443" data-title="Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, The de Robert Burns" data-description="The Author's Only Pet Yowe 
 
An Unco Mournfu' Tale 
 
As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An owre she warsl'd in the ditch: 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc..."></div>
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