Ilka ither bairntime’s row’d.
Christ had never toothick,
Christ was never seeck,
But Man’s a fiky bairn
Wi’ bellythraw, ripples, and worm-i’-the-cheek!...
Dae what ye wull ye canna parry
This skeleton-at-the-feast that through the starry
Maze o’ the warld’s intoxicatin’ soiree
Claughts ye, as micht at an affrontit quean
A bastard wean!