Were I but able tae rehearse my ewie's praise in proper verse,
I'd sound it oot as loud and fierce as ever piper's drone could blaw.
I neither needed tar nor keel, to mark upon her hip or heel,
Her crooked horn it did as weel tae ken her by amang them a'.
She never threatened scab nor rot, but keepit aye her ane jog trot,
Baith tae the fauld and tae the cot was never sweir tae lead nor ca'.
When ither ewies lap the dyke, and ate the kail for a' the tyke,
My ewie never played the like but stayed ahint the barnie wa'.
I lookit aye at even for her, lest mishanter should come ower her,
Or the foumart should devour her, gin the beastie bade awa'.
Yet Monday last for a' my keepin', I cannae speak it withoot greetin',
A villain cam' when I was sleepin', stole my ewie horn an' a'.
I socht her sair upon the morn, and doon aneath a buss o' thorn,
I got my ewie's crooked horn, but my ewie was awa'.
Ewie wi' the crookit horn, and a' that kent her might hae sworn,
Sic a ewie ne'er was born, hereaboots nor far awa'.