"Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit:
Is t na hallowmas noo, an' the crap out yet?"
Sae she scelenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit
Sit-yer-wa's-doun, Aiken-drum."
Roun a' that side what wark was dune,
By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon.
A word, or a wish—an' the Brownie cam sune,
Sae helpfu was Aiken-drum.
But he slade aye awa or the sun was up,
He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup: