1 Awa noo, ye rich! wail ye and cry, for the dool that is comin on ye!
For uprises the sun, wiʼ its birsʼlin heat, and birsles the gerss; “and its blume faʼs awa,” and the ee‐sweetness and beauty oʼ its face is gane! eʼen sae the rich man dwines awa in his ways.
But ye lichtlie the puir ane. Are‐na the rich haudin ye doon? and theirsels harl ye afore judgment‐seats?
Awa noo! ye that say, “The day or the morn, we wull gang to this citie here; and bide a year thar; and troke, and win gear.”
Be ye dool, and maen and greet! lat yere daffin be turned to lamentation, and joy to heaviness.