Was ‘Bother what I think I feel
—Jean kens the set o’ my bluid owre weel,
And lauchs to see me in the creel
O’ my courage-bag confined.’”...
I wish I kent the physical basis
O’ a’ life’s seemin’ airs and graces.
It’s queer the thochts a kittled cull
Can lowse or splairgin’ glit annul.
Man’s spreit is wi’ his ingangs twined
In ways that he can ne’er unwind.