Wee Willie Winkie
Wee Willie Winkie rins thro' the toun.
Up stairs and down stairs in his nicht goun.
Tir-lin' at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are all the bairnies in their bed, It's past eight o'clock."
"Hey Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin' grey thrums to the sleepin' hen,
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie that winna la' asleep.
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glowring like the moon,
Rattlin' in an aim jug wi' an aim spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin' like I kenna what, waukenin' sleepin' folk.
Hey Willie Winkle, the wean's in a creel,
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and ravellin, a' her thrums-
Hey Willie Winkie! See, here he comesl"