But naither frien’ nor foe could say
I ever cared to blaw tobacco.
An’ in they gaed; but I stood there
Before the door, a tentless sentry,
Till startled by a vision fair
Gaun jookin’ ben across the entry.
Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been,
An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy.
But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen
’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie?