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Robert Burns (Роберт Бёрнс)


* * *


THE Tailor fell thro’ the bed, thimbles an’ a’,
The Tailor fell thro’ the bed, thimbles an’ a’;
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma’,
The Tailor fell thro’ the bed, thimbles an’ a’.

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill,
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.

Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
The day it is short, and the night it is lang,
The dearest siller that ever I wan!

There’s somebody weary wi’ lying her lane;
There’s somebody weary wi’ lying her lane;
There’s some that are dowie I trow wad be fain
To see the bit tailor come skippin’ again.



Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Eppie M’Nab
  2. Her Daddie Fforbad
  3. Bannocks O’ Barley
  4. The Chevalier’s Lament
  5. The Fete Champetre


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