... tidings I bear, Bees, bees, murmurin' low; Cauld i' his grave ligs your maister dear, Bees, bees, murmurin' low. Nea mair he'll ride to t' soond o' t' horn, Nea mair he'll fettle his sickle for t' corn. Nea mair he'll coom to your skep of a morn, Bees, ... — Songs of the Ridings • F. W. Moorman