The Scot, says he, is dull and dour,
Aye jealous, greedy, jaundiced, sour,
A drucken, coarse, ill-mannered boor,
Wherein one traces
Nae sign o’ Crosland’s mental pow’r
And courtly graces.
We arena gleg, we Scottish folk:
We canna catch the witty stroke
That will a Surrey Ha’ provoke,
To lauchter shakin’,