Now to a cane promoted, helps its master’s way.
Full fifty bawbees Sandy had in store,
And piteous tales had raised him fifty more:
His knife, his pipe, and eke his bawbee bank,
In Basil pouch hung dangling from his flank:
No empty wallet on his shoulder floats:
Hard eggs, soft cheese, tobacco, salt, and oats,
Cramm’d in one end, wagg’d o’er his brawny chest,
And what was once a blanket poised the rest:
Thus wealthy, victuall’d, proud, content, and gay,