(continued from previous page)
And as he passed by, the sleeper stirred,
But never wakened more.
"What will we de" quoth he.
We'll bury him snug in his ane bit pack,
Bit niver ye mind the loss o' the sack,
For I ha'e ta'en out the geer."The pack was short by twa guid span,
"What will we de?" quoth he
But ye're the dotter [crossed out] doting unthoughtful aul man,
Sure we'll just cut him off at the knee.They shortened the corpse,
And they packed him tight,
With his legs in a wee pickle of hay,
And over the burn in the sweet moonlight,They carried him ta the Rid Brae.
(continues on next page)