The year, 'at slips sae fast away,
Whispers we mun net think to stay;
The spring suin thows the winter frost;
To meet the spring does simmer post;
Frae simmer, autumn clicks the hauld.
And back at yence is winter cauld.
Yit muins off-hand meake up the loss:
But soon as we the watter cross,
To Tullus great, Eneas guid,
We're dust and shadows without bluid.
And whae, Torquatus, can be sworn,
'At thame abuin 'ill grant to-mworn?
Leeve, than; what's war't i' murry cheer,
Frae thankless heirs is gitten clear.
When Death, my friend, yence ligs ye fast,
And Minus just your duim has past,
Your reace, and wit, and worth, I'll mak
But a peer shift to bring you back.
Diana, (she's a goddess, tee)
Gits not Hippolitus set free;
Can never brek Pirithous' chyne.