“I’ve warsled wi’ Sawtan for many a year;
I’ve cloured him and loundered him aft times right sair;
But the foul fiend has played me a pliskie, I fear;
Lord save’s, man, I ne’er heard the like, I declare.
“Fie, Saunders, let’s mount, and to Dawson’s let’s hurry,
And chase the loon back to his ain lowin’ hame;
The tod’s in the fauld, God’s ain lambs he may worry;
Come, Saunders, let’s hunt him, Auld Clootie’s fair game.”
And they rode till they came to John Dawson’s fore-door,
Whaur the minister lighted, but wadna step in,