Wee Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie

Rins through the toun

Up stairs an doon stairs

In his nict goun,

Tirlin’ at the window,

Cryin at the lock,

“Are the weans in their bed,

For its noo ten o’clock?”

“Hey Willie Winkie,

Are ye comin’ ben?

The cat’s singin grey thrums,

To the sleepin hen.

The dog’s speldert on the floor

And disna gi’e a cheep,

But here’s a waukrife laddie!

That wonna fa’ asleep.”

Ony thing but sleep you rogue!

Glow’rin like the moon!

Rattlin’ in an airn jug,

Wi’ an airn spoon.

Rumblin’, tumblin’, roun’ about,

Crawin like a cock,

Skirlin’ like a kenna-what,

Waukin’ sleepin’ folk.

“Hey Willie Winkie

The wean’s in a creel!

Wamblin aff a bodie’s knee,

Like a verraeel.

Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug,

An ravelin’ a’ her thrums —

Hey Willie Winkie —

See, there he comes.”

Wearied is the mother

That has a stoorie wean,

A wee stumpie stousie,

Wha canna rin his lane.

That has a battleaya wi’ sleep,

Afore he’ll close an e’e —

But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips,

Gi’es strength anew to me.