But he took a hand o 'Denny
An' a hand o' Dan,,
Wi' Joe's owld coat upon him -
Och, the poor wee man!
He cut the quarest figure,
More stout nor thin;
An' trottin' right an' steady
Wi his toes turned in.
I watched him to the corner
0' the big turf stack,
An' the more his feet went forrit,
Still his head turned back.
He was lookin',
would I call him -
Och me heart was woe-
Sure it's lost I am without him,
But he be to go.
I followed to the turnin'
When they passed it by,
God help him, he was cryin',
An', maybe, so was I.