Hes gotten a lyfe-lang frychte.
A voyce ilke year as that nychte comes roun’,
Yells a’ the plantyns throo—
“There never was Herryes that dreet a strayke,
But he garr’t the smyter rue.”
An’ what has been seen I downa telle,
But this I ken fu’ weel
That rayther nor cross that burne at e’en,
There’s monye wad face the deil.
An’ ance quhan I was a smayke at the schule,