That was splashing and labbering aboot i’ the tide.
“It’s a fluiker!” ki Dick; “No,” ki Mat, “it’s owre big,
“It luik’d mair like a skyat when aw furst see’d it rise:”
Kiv aw—for aw’d getten a gliff o’ the wig—
Odds marcy! Wye, marrows, becrike it’s Lord ’Size.
Sae aw huik’d him an’ hawl’d him suin into the keel,
An’ o’top o’ the huddock aw rowl’d him aboot;
An’ his belly aw rubb’d, an’ aw skelp’d his back weel,
But the wayter he’d drucken it wadn’t run oot.
Sae aw brought him ashore here, an’ doctors, in vain,