"He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man," Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
His legs they are bow'd, his e'es they do glee,
His wig, whiles its off, an' when on, its ajee.
He's braird as he's long—an' ill-faur'd is he,
A dafter like body I never did see.
An' yet for this cretur she says I am deein';
When that I deny—she's fear'd at my leein'.
Obliged to pit up wi' the sair defamation,
I'm liken to dee wi' shame and vexation.
An' oh, she's a haverin' Lucky, etc.