that's out o' hell.

sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint,

my funny toil is now a' tint,

sin' thou came to the warl' asklent,

which fools may scoff at;

in my last plack thy part's be in't

the better ha'f o't.

tho' i should be the waur bestead,

thou's be as braw and bienly clad,

and thy young years as nicely bred

wi' education,

as ony brat o' wedlock's bed,

in a' thy station.

lord grant that thou may aye inherit

thy mither's person, grace, an' merit,

an' thy poor, worthless daddy's spirit,

without his failins,

'twill please me mair to see thee heir it,

than stockit mailens.

for if thou be what i wad hae thee,

and tak the counsel i shall gie thee,

i'll never rue my trouble wi' thee,

the cost nor shame o't,

but be a loving father to thee,

and brag the name o't.