The kilt is most becoming, and it hangs with grace and ease,
Though perhaps a little draughty in the region of the knees,
And if there should be midges—but no doubt the Scotch are drest
In the clothes Experience has found to suit the climate best.
The dirk that dangles from my waist looks very comme il faut,
And the sporran in my stocking gives a finish, don’t you know?
The girls are all in raptures as they gaze at me in turns,
And mother says they’ll take me for another Robert Burns.
Sandy loquitur:
Oh, mony are the fallacies that Ignorance’ll breed,