Readings: humorous and pathetic

Cock Robin fell that waefu' day
The sparrow drew his bow;
But baith, waesock! I couldna get,
And sae wi' tearfu' e'e

I swithered lang on whilk to wair
My first bawbee.

At length a wheedlin' Eerish loon
Began to bawl and brag;
"Come now," said he, "my little lad,
And try the Lucky Bag;
If you have but one copper got,
For it you may get three-
Shure, never venture never win,
Come, sport your bawbee."

Thinks I, this is the vera thing,
I'll mak' my bawbee twa,
And syne I'll get the plums or pears,
The wee bit beuk and a’;
Sae at the Bag I tried my luck,
But hope was dang agee—

A blank was mine, and sae I lost
My first bawbee.

A tear canı' happin' ower my cheek
As sad I daunert hame,

Wi' hunger rumbling up and doon,
Like win' within my wame.

I tel't auld grannie a' my tale

"Ye've gane far wrang," quo' she, "But muckle guid may yet come out Your lost bawbee."

And true she spak'-my loss was gain— It lair'd me usefu' lair

It made me aft, sinsyne, tak' tent

O' mony a gilded snare.

And still when loons to catch the plack,
Their fleechin' phrases gie,

A something whispers, "Robin, mind
Your first bawbee,"

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