But, by my gun, o’ guns the wale,
An’ by my pouther an’ my hail,
An’ by my hen, an’ by her tail,
I vow an’ swear!
The game shall pay o’er moor an’ dale,
For this niest year.
As soon’s the clockin-time is by,
An’ the wee pouts begun to cry,
L—d, I’se hae sportin’ by an’ by,
For my gowd guinea;
Tho’ I should herd the buckskin kye
For’t, in Virginia.
Trowth, they had muckle for to blame!
’Twas neither broken wing nor limb,
But twa-three draps about the wame
Scarce thro’ the feathers;
An’ baith a yellow George to claim,
An’ thole their blethers!
It pits me ay as mad’s a hare;
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;
But pennyworths again is fair,
When time’s expedient:
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,
Your most obedient.
FOOTNOTES:
[54] A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the country-side.
[55] A song he had promised the author.