"I wot weel no!" quo' the Laird's Jock,
"I count him lighter than a flea."
Sae out at the gates they a' are gane,
The pris'ner's set on horseback high;
And now wi' speed they've tane the gate,
While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonly.
"O Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride,
Wi' baith your feet upo' ae side!
Sae weel's ye're harness'd, and sae trig,
In troth, ye sit like ony bride!"