"There is ane o' the name is a spendthrift, an ass; The reason tae ye I'll discover: Oor gran'faither marrit an Inverness lass, Juist because he happened to luve her— Foolish mon, he happened to luve her!
"And the wild Highland strain is still i' the bluid— 'Tis i' Colin, as sure's you're leeving; Ye ken how it is wi' the whole Highland brood— 'Tis a' for spending and geeving.
"Gin ye're freen' o' the clan, why, ask what ye may, Ye'll get o' the best, ay, get double; Gin ye're foe o' the clan, weel, juist gang your way If so be ye're no hunting trouble.
"Brither Colin was daft when a lad at the school, Wi' ways and wi' morals improper, Had high flowing notions—poor family fool, His notions ha' made him a pauper.
"What owns he? Bare acres a few, and a house, Yet when we, last year, were expecting Twa relatives, ane puir as ony church mouse, Ane freighted wi' wealth, unreflecting,
"He spat oot graun' like, 'Sin' ye're ower fond o' pelf 'Ye can hae,' said he, 'the rich pairty, But I'll tak' the mon that is puir as mysel' And gie him a welcome right hearty'— A welcome right hearty.
"Gosh! I had tae lauch at the feckless auld mon As he stood there, his bonnet-strings twirling; Ye'd think he was chief o' a whole Highland clan That marched to the pibroch's mad skirling.
"Ah! hot-headed, high-handed, go as you please, These Highlanders no worth a copper, Wi' their kilt and hose, and their uncovered knees— A bold dress, and highly improper!
"Oor Colin's the same; hark ye, Davy and Jock, Go no to the hills for your mating; Twa weel dowered lassies o' guid lowland stock, 'Tis for such I'd hae ye both waiting.
"Ho! it's get what ye can, and keep what ye get,— What is it ye whisper amang ye? What! oor rich uncle's deid—weel, weel, dinna fret, Ah'm certain that he wouldna wrang me.