An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang,
An' syne we thocht him fou,
An' syne he trumped his partner's trick,
An' garred his partner rue.
Then up and spake an elder mon,
That held the Spade its Ace—
"God save the lad! Whence comes the licht
That wimples on his face?"
An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled,
An' ower the card-brim wunk:—