About the breeks or trouse, man.
Fal lal, &c.
Nain sell did wear the philapeg,
The plaid prik’t on her shouder;
The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,
The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder.
Fal lal, &c.
But for whereas these cursed preeks,
Wherewith mans narse be lockit,
O hon, that ere she saw the day!