And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn,
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn.
Six bottles apiece had well wore out the night,
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red,
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did.
Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage;
A high ruling-elder to wallow in wine!
He left the foul business to folks less divine.