i hae a wife and twa wee laddies;
they maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is—
i need na vaunt
but i'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies,
before they want.
lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
i'm weary sick o't late and air!
not but i hae a richer share
than mony ithers;
but why should ae man better fare,
and a' men brithers?
 e, firm resolve, take thou the van,
thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
and let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
a lady fair:
wha does the utmost that he can,
will whiles do mair.
but to conclude my silly rhyme
(i'm scant o' verse and scant o' time),
to make a happy fireside clime
to weans and wife,
that's the true pathos and sublime
of human life.
mypliments to sister beckie,
and eke the same to honest lucky;
i wat she is a daintie chuckie,
as e'er tread clay;
and gratefully, my gude auld cockie,
i'm yours for aye.
robert burns.