Just like a chapman and his pack,
Wanting the breiks, with legs all bare,
Into his hand his brogues did bear,
A napkin ty’d around his head,
In this posture forward they gade,
Long thirty miles ere they took rest,
Water and brandy was all their feast:
Because they had no other cheer,
For house or hut they went not near,
Till at Ellighill, the place call’d Ord,