I was late on Lockerbye Hylle,
An’ sure o’ a flyte quhan I ance wan hame,
I gaed wi’ lyttle gude wylle;
But thynkinge on monye a fayre excuse,
Juste aung-er awaye to turne,
I’d got a rychte feasible storye framyt,
As I loupit owre Hurkelle Burn.
Quhan somethynge rase wi’ ane eldrytche skrayche,
An’ a deevylyshe dynne it mayde,
As doon the burn whyrre! whyrre! whyrroo!