A soond that arrears in my lug
Herrin’-banein’ back to its maker,
A swaw like a flaw in a jewel
Or nadryv[7] jaloused in a man,
Or Creation unbiggit again
To the draucht wi’ which it began....
Abordage o’ this toom houk’s nae mowse.
It munks and’s ill to lay haud o’,
As gin a man ettled to ride
On the shouders o’ his ain shadow.