Wee Willie Winkie rins thro' the toun
Upstairs and downstairs in is nicht goun.
Tirlin' at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are all the bairnies in their bed? It's past eight 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 gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep.
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow'ring like the moon,
Rattlin ' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin' like I kenna what, waukerin' sleepin' folk.
Hey Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel,
Wamblin, aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and ravenin' a' her thrums-
"Hey Willie Winkie! See, here he comes!"