Gruel

There dwalt a man into the west,

⁠And O gin he was cruel,

For on his bridal night at e'en

⁠He gat up and grat for gruel.

They brought to him a gude sheep head,

⁠A napkin and a towel:

Gar tak' thae whim-whams fer frae me,

⁠And bring to me my gruel.

But there's nae meal in a' the house,

⁠What will we do, my jewel?

Get up the powk and shake it out,

⁠I winna want my gruel.

But there's nae milk in a' the house,

⁠Nor yet a spunk o' fuel:

Gae warm it in the light o' the moon,

⁠I winna want my gruel.

O lake-a-day for my first wife,

⁠Wha was baith white and rosie,

She cheer'd me aye at e'ening fa'

⁠Wi' something warm and cozie:

Farewell to pleasant draps o' drink,

⁠To butter brose and gruel;

And farewell to my first sweet wife,

⁠My cannie Nancy Newell.