Her backbone wanders through her sark
In an unkenn’d corkscrewity.
She’s palsified, an’ shakes her head
Sae fast about, ye scarce can see ’t;
It’s past the power o’ steel or lead
To settle her annuity.
She might be drowned, but go she’ll not
Within a mile o’ loch or sea;
Or hanged, if cord could grip a throat
O’ siccan exiguity.