The like o’ this we ne’er did ken.
Then view’d the hatchet and the block,
Said, a strange way of killing fowk,
To th’ executioner, said he too,
There’s nae man works, friend, after you,
But you’ll have a kittle job of me,
My neck’s sae short, strike cannilie,
Here’s a bit purse, gi’t a guid drive,
I needna wish your trade to thrive.
Then fell a scaffold which rais’d a roar,