Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown.
Rapping at the window, crying at the lock,
Are the children in bed, for it’s now ten o’clock.

Hey, Willie Winkie, are you coming in?
The cat’s singing quiet songs to the sleeping hen,
The dog’s sprawled across the floor, and doesn’t give a cheep,
But here’s a wakeful laddie that will not fall asleep.

Anything but sleep you rogue! Glowering like the moon,
Rattling in an iron mug with an iron spoon,
Rumbling, tumbling roundabout, crowing like a cock,
Squealing like I don’t know what, waking sleeping folk.

Hey, Willie Winkie, the child’s in a creel,
Scrambling off his mother’s knee like a very eel,
Tugging at the cat’s ear and spoiling all her dreams,
Hey, Willie Winkie see, here he comes!

Weary is the mother that has a wakeful bairn,
A wee wilful mischief that can’t be left alone,
That battles every night with sleep before he’ll close an eye,
But a kiss from off his rosy lips gives strength anew to me.