“Ay whan he play’d the Gaitlings gedder’d,
And whan he spake the Carl bledder’d;
On Sabbath days his Cap was fedder’d,
A seemly Weid.
In the Kirk-yeard his Mare stood tedder’d
Where he lies dead.
“Alas! for him my Heart is sair,
For of his Springs I gat a skair,
At every Play, Race, Feast, and Fair
But Guile or Greed