Clonglockety’s pipings all night and all day
Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay;
The girls were amused at his singular spleen,
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen,
“Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus, my lad,
With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.
If you really must play on that cursed affair,
My goodness! play something resembling an air.”
Boiled over the blood of Macphairson McClan—
The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;
For all were enraged at the insult, I ween—
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
“Let’s show,” said McClan, “to this Sassenach loon
That the bagpipes can play him a regular tune.
Let’s see,” said McClan, as he thoughtfully sat,
“‘In my Cottage’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.”
He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will,
For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until
(You’ll hardly believe it) McClan, I declare,
Elicited something resembling an air.
It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze—
It wandered about into several keys;
It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware;
But still it distinctly suggested an air.
The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced;
He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced;
And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene—
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
“Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around;
And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound.
An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can!
Hurrah for Clonglocketty Angus McClan!”
The fame of his piping spread over the land:
Respectable widows proposed for his hand,
And maidens came flocking to sit on the green—
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore
He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore,
And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste)
Divided Clonglocketty close to the waist.