Classic Poem

The gudeman's come hame, an' his face weers a bloom,
His organ o' reeds he hads in his left han';
An' his richt han' ca's me to come till his room:—
It's siccan a joy; it's mair nor I can stan'.

The gudeman's come hame, an' he's pleesed I'll engage,
His gran' fether screen he hads in his left han';
An' his richt han' ca's me to come till the stage:—
It's siccan a joy; it's mair nor I can stan'.