"I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg,
May be that I am drunk."
"There's whusky brewed in Galashiels,
An' L. L. L. forbye;
But never liquor lit the low
That keeks fra' oot your eye.
"There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat
breast,
Aboon the heart a wee?"
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye