Bare-kneed on the ground will I go—
My hair on my shoulders let fall,
Now hear me and never forget
My curses I'll cast on you all
_Little increase to your clan!
The down-mouth to you and to yours!
The blight on your little black cave!
The luck o' a Friday on moors!
Fire upon land be your lot!
Drowning in storm on the deep!
Leave not a son to succeed!
Leave not a daughter to weep!
Here's the bad meeting to you!
Death without priest be your fate!
Go to your grandfather's[3] house—
The Son of the Cursing[4] will wait!_
[Footnote 1: This clan, which had an evil reputation, is extinct]
[Footnote 2: Laspuig MacIan—A famous thief]
[Footnote 3: "Grandfather's house"—The grave]
[Footnote 4: "Son of the Cursing"—The devil]
LEOBAG'S[1] WARNING.
Would Murdo make the wry mouth?
Is Ailie cross-eyed?
O mock no more the beggar man,
You'll scorn wi' pride!
The wind that will be blowing west,
Might turn and blow south—
O, Ailie, it would fix your eyes
And Murdo's wry mouth.