Tho’ he has goups o’ gold;
I’ll lay a trap for him bedeen,
By which he shall be sold.”
Thirlwall’s Baron heard his speech,
Wi’ scorn almost he burst;
“His anger it is like a haggis,
That’s hottest at the first.”
Sore smiled the wily Belted Will,
But in so dark a way;
Better that smile were wanting there,